Vanished
by El-Maybonics
Summary: Marine squadron Kilo is missing, and a secret operation is at risk if the Office of Special Projects can't find them. A "Revenge-verse" case-fic, featuring an established Densi.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:-** The next case-fic in the _Revenge-verse_. Don't worry if you haven't read any of those, all you need to know is that it features an established and public Densi. But if you'd like read those first, I will never, ever, hold it against you. Special shout out to **Malia Amane** for being my first ever (and greatly needed) Beta reader/editor extraordinaire. Any mistakes after that are my own.  
**Rating:-** T. And it will not go above that into M (fingers crossed)  
**Disclaimer:-** If you've been reading my stories since the beginning, you can probably figure this out. If not, here's a little spoiler for you; I do not own NCIS Los Angeles or any of the awesome characters who appear on it.

* * *

Popular rumour held that the only true thing you would ever discover about Henrietta Lange was that she enjoyed the finer things in life.

This was evident in the aged scotch she kept in a drawer in her desk, the classic Jaguar she drove, the exotic tea she could always be found enjoying, the smooth and well cut clothes she wore and insisted her agents did as well (at least, when the undercover opportunity arises, and they can be trusted to bring said items back in one piece), and the lavish building and grounds that served as her main home. It was also a rumour that Hetty was quite keen to ensure propagated.

Right now, the bright sunshine – fat and heavy with the fullness of noon – streamed down over the well-groomed grounds, casting rays of warmth over Hetty as she sat on a thick oaken lawn chair, sipping on a cup of tea, savouring the pleasant mix of aromas. Savoured them, and tried to ignore the other heavy scent from the other side of the pool, where Eric Beale – clad in an apron, oven mitts and comically large white chef's hat, and having to have been extracted from Ops and his prized computers only be the sheer force of Hetty's will – busied himself with the burning BBQ grill, fussing over the burgers, hotdogs and steaks that sizzled there. It wasn't that the food did not smell good, but she was trying to enjoy the bouquet of her tea, since it was an important part of the whole experience. She wished the gentle breeze would shift direction, taking the smoke away from her little table, but alas, there were just some things that not even Hetty Lange had power over. _Still_, she thought, _good food and good friends. What better way to spend a Saturday?_

Not far from where Eric was struggling with the spitting grill, Nell Jones, his partner in crime, was engrossed in conversation with two other women who were as different in age as they were similar in temperament. The diminutive data analyst – and it was odd for Hetty to consider anyone else short – had a floral sunhat perched over her shock of red hair, and was crouched down to speak to the young girl, a smile on both their faces, Nell genuinely amused by the little girl's words. The girl spoke animatedly and with a great deal of enthusiasm, though she was too far off for Hetty to make out more than one or two words. The girl's mother, Michelle, stood by for support if need be. She needn't have worried, of course; Shondra Hanna was far too much like both her parents to be shy in talking to strangers.

Speaking of her parents, her father was on the other end of the lawn. Sam Hanna had stripped off his shirt, revealing the complex pattern of tattoos on his dark skin, his well-defined muscles bunching as he cocked his arm back, before launching the tan football into the air, where it flew a sizable distance. His partner, however, had to jump high to pluck the ball out of the sky. Callen affixed Sam with a dry gaze.

"You still suck at being a quarterback," Callen called, before launching the ball back towards his partner. It sailed perfectly, spinning above the head of the shaggy haired individual, who darted back and forth between the two senior agents, barking and yipping delightedly, his tongue lolling out of his mouth and his tail wagging like there was no tomorrow. Monty might not be a member of her team per say, but he was a loyal, complex and trusted companion who had saved the lives of her agents, and Hetty would have found it remiss to not include him in the day's festivities.

Sam caught the pigskin in his large hands, clutching it automatically to his chest for safety, ignoring the scruffy mutt as he whined excitedly around the big man's feet. "I was a receiver, G," Sam called back. "And a damned good one at that too. You know why?"

"No," replied Callen. "But I get the feeling you're going to tell me."

"It's cause I can do this all day long," Sam continued. "You, you can throw this ball alright when there's no pressure, when the only thing you have to worry about is the bottom of your jeans getting slobbered on. Get half a dozen guys charging you, in full armour, and you'd crumble."

"Hey, I do just fine under pressure," Callen retorted, catching the ball again and returning it in one smooth movement. "And real pressure too, when there's lives on the line. Why any quarterback would ever panic is beyond me."

Hetty let the sounds of their banter wash over her, contentment resting easily in her chest. Callen had been one of the biggest challenges of her career to date. He had always been brooding and mysterious, a lone wolf who did not play well with others, constantly searching for the truth about himself and about his family. While he was still all of those things, the edges of his personality had been smoothed. Being partnered with Sam had done that, had provided the trusted and emotional support Callen had so desperately needed, grounding him in reality and drawing him inch by inch back into the world he spent so much of his time fighting to protect. They all made great sacrifices to do what they did but without that anchor, it was easy to lose sight of what they had dedicated themselves to defend. And though he now knew he had lost the only blood kin he would ever know, amongst his fellow agents in the Office of Special Projects he had found a rudimentary family that he could embrace as his own.

"You can't talk," said Sam. "You ain't never been in a real game in your life. Ain't never been in a high pressure game, last play, everything resting on you. Seconds ticking down, a bunch of tackles rushing you. You don't know. Heck, I've been in combat situations, and even I still get nightmares about my football days."

"Yeah?" replied Callen, voice mockingly playful. "You wake up in cold sweats? If that sort of thing bothers you, maybe I should have Monty as my new partner; he doesn't panic."

"Dog's too stupid to panic," Sam retorted. "Just like his owner."

Hetty's attention drifted to the edge of her lawn, where said dog's said owner was observing the fun, his arms wrapped possessively around the stomach of the attractive brunette pressed back first against his chest. Detective Marty Deeks, their "LAPD Liaison" (Hetty couldn't resist the air quotes in her mind. She hadn't needed a liaison officer; she had just wanted him for his skills, so underhandedly stole him from them), didn't catch the ex-SEAL's words, too busy whispering into the ear of his partner. Kensi Blye giggled almost girlishly at whatever he was saying, her face flitting between amusement, faux-disgust, and delight. They were so relaxed in the openness of their relationship it often took Hetty by surprise.

When Kensi's first partner had vanished, presumed dead, Hetty had stepped up her machinations to obtain Deeks as a replacement. She knew he would bring some highly valuable skills to the team, skills they didn't even know they lacked. But more than that, he would bring a lightness to their work lives, a sense of fun that would help them cope with their long, arduous battle against the forces that sought to destroy their very way of life. And he would be the perfect counter point to Kensi.

For everything that the female agent was – smart, strong bodied and willed, determined and dedicated –, before the resolution with her mother Kensi had been just as alone in her life as Callen was. Deeks, Hetty knew, would have proven to be a willing confidant and trusted friend, someone who would open up the possibilities of the world for Kensi in the same way that Sam did for Callen. Still, no one had been more amazed than Hetty when she realised that, slowly and with barely any notice, the pair's friendship and mutual attraction had blossomed into something more, something deeper. In her wildest planning, chess master extraordinaire Hetty Lange had never imagined that her two junior agents would fall in love.

When the truth of their full bond had emerged, Hetty had spoken rather coolly and at some length to them both, warning them that such a relationship could hamper their partnership and the unit as a whole, even if they managed to remain together. She pressed upon them both the need to remain professional at all times, to not let their feelings get in the way of an investigation more than it would had they simply remained friends. And for the most part, they had complied. Deeks, who had only a small passing familiarity with professionalism to begin with, had not exactly altered the way he treated his partner whilst they were in the office. They had so far managed to keep the touching and the couple stuff to a minimum, though Deeks still flirted outrageously with Kensi every chance he got. Remarkably, the pair's casual touches – which they had both foolishly believed no one had noticed even before they became official – and banter seemed to have remained exactly the same, with neither doing anything that would raise objections from even Director Granger… were anyone to tell him about it, of course. How they were outside of the office and away from prying eyes, however, was a situation Hetty did not want to consider too deeply.

Because inside, Hetty was glad they had found each other. She was old, her whole life had been dedicated to the spy game, and now – aside from the little misfit bunch of agents she considered her family – she was alone; she'd missed out on the chance for love, for everything else that went along with that. And she had worried that Kensi would go the same way as her, returning home each night to a big empty house, alone with her thoughts.

"You're joking, right?" Kensi suddenly exclaimed, pulling herself free of the arms clasped around her, and rounding on the shaggy haired blond.

Her partner just grinned back, that lopsided wolfen grin of his. "What," he replied. "I'm not saying anything that's not true."

"You take it back this instant," Kensi retorted.

"And what if I don't?" Deeks replied smoothly, his eyes twinkling. Hetty watched them with interest now; the detective's personality may grate on some, but while his easy-going nature actually clashed more noticeably with his girlfriend's, it had remarkably been one of the first things that had attracted the two to each other. Plus, he really did know how to push Kensi's buttons, and while Hetty would never admit it to anyone, their interactions were amusing to witness.

Kensi grabbed Deeks by the arm, dragging him handily towards the other members of the team, her face twisted into a determined scowl. "We're going to sort this out right now," she demanded hotly. Anyone casually observing her would believe that Kensi was enraged by something Deeks had said. Hetty – and of course, Detective Deeks – could read her better than that; their current exchanges were part of the unique dance the partners had perfected long before they ever acknowledged their feelings.

"I could kick your ass any day of the week," claimed Kensi, voice solid.

"I'm not doubting that," replied Deeks, a small smile curling the corners of his lips. "I'm just saying that girls – normal girls, not bad-ass Special Agents – would get womped playing football against boys. They'd need to have the body mass of, like, Sam or something, and most women I know couldn't stand to be that big."

"Most of the women you know can barely remember their own names," Kensi accused.

Deeks shrugged slightly, still smiling. "That is true," he said.

"Could you guys maybe not do that right now?" said Sam, gesturing roughly to the couple as they approached him. "There're impressionable kids about."

"Also Eric," added Callen, coming to stand by his partner.

"Give me the ball," Kensi demanded of Sam. The ex-SEAL, who had once been buried alive, who had faced down insurmountable odds in combat situations, who didn't panic under pressure, quickly complied. "Right," she continued, addressing the whole team. "Here's the deal, touch football. Endzones are there and there. Whoever has the most points by the time the food's ready, wins. Sam's on my team."

Sam and Callen exchanged a glance, both seemingly almost on the verge on complaining – whether at the interruption of their casual throw-around, or at Kensi's choice of teams, Hetty didn't know – but both clamped their mouths shut at the exact moment. Sam threw his partner a grin. "Let's see how you do under pressure," he said.

"I'll be fine," replied Callen, a confident grin on his features. "Give us the ball and I'll show you how it's done."

"Why do you get the ball first?" demanded Kensi.

It was Deeks who replied, without even a second's pause; "Best looking team gets to start with the ball."

Kensi arched an eyebrow at him. "And what makes you think that's you?"

Deeks grinned victoriously. "Cause we get Nell on our team."

"Uh uh," replied Kensi. "I don't think so."

"Oh, I think so," replied Callen, tugging the ball out of her hands. "You picked Sam, we pick Nell."

"But I don't want Eric," Kensi whined.

"Oh, that's nice," came a voice from the edge of the lawn. The team turned as one, to see Nell and Eric standing close by, no doubt alerted by the raised voices. Kensi had the good grace to blush.

"Sorry, Eric," she replied, voice bashful. "Now get your butt over here, I have a partner to humiliate."

"Why," interjected Deeks. "You planning on driving around somewhere?"

"I am a great driver," she retorted.

Sam let out a laugh. "You know, Kensi, for someone who lies professionally, not even you can make that hold water."

"Why is everyone picking on me?" Kensi sighed.

"Just your turn," deadpanned Callen. "We gonna do this or not?"

The two teams split into huddles on opposite ends of Hetty's lawn. When they broke into positions, Hetty was intrigued to note they paired up against their opposite number; Nell ready to snap the ball to Callen, with Eric and Sam covering them, whilst Deeks stood out to one side, playing the role of receiver, Kensi opposite him. The sixsome may act naturally as partners out in the field, but there was always going to be a small question in the backs of their minds as to who was the better agent. Hetty didn't mind that; the question made each partner strive to be better, to find new ways to one-up each other, even if they didn't realise it.

"Just you and me, Blondie," Kensi said, face now a mask of resolve, spoiled only slightly by the clearly delighted grin threatening to force its way out.

Deeks threw her a lopsided grin in return. "Wouldn't have it any other way, Pookie."

"You ready for this, G?" asked Sam, calling over the backs of Nell and Eric. "Full blitz. It's pressure time. Let's see how you do."

"Hike," cried Callen, ignoring the jibe from his partner, and Nell snapped the ball between her legs and into his hands. She rose quickly, holding her arms wide as Callen scrambled away from her. Opposite the young Data Analyst, Eric moved forwards, trying to get past, but seemed reluctant to get too close to the woman. Whether it was due to concern for his own safety or his feelings for his partner, Hetty was unsure. Either way, he wasn't getting past her anytime soon.

The same couldn't be said for Sam, unfortunately, who raced passed the pair, roaring like a bear as he rushed his partner. Callen's eyes widened briefly as the avalanche rolled towards him, scrambling out of the way at the last second, the ball clutched protectively to his chest. Sam turned on the dime, zigging his direction to bundle himself towards his partner's back. But before he could reach him, Callen let the ball arch from his grip, sailing through the air.

On and on it span, and Hetty watched its graceful curve, only aware in the corner of her vision that Sam had hit Callen full bore. _Friendly game of touch football my sweet backside_, she thought. The ball soared across the green, heading right for Deeks as the detective raced away from the line of scrimmage, his partner hot on his heels, the pair of them laughing richly like wayward teenagers. Kensi tugged against his shirt, stretching the material out, while her partner made accusations of cheating at the top of his lungs. Deeks leapt for the ball, hands outstretched, but Kensi grabbed him roughly by the shoulder, dragging him off target with all her might. The ball passed effortlessly out of his reach, and Deeks tumbled, off balance, onto the ground, his partner dragged with him. She landed roughly atop him, chest to chest, their faces close.

Deeks grinned at Kensi again, brushing a strand of darkened hair out of her face. "You know," he began, "we really, uh, really need to stop meeting like this."

Kensi's eyes twinkled delightedly and she sucked her lips into her mouth for a fraction of a second. Thankfully, Hetty was spared witnessing whatever was about to happen next, as the sound of her phone ringing distracted her. She glanced down briefly at the caller ID; it was the office. With a sigh, she answered the call.

By the time it was over, a heavy feeling had settled into Hetty's chest. She glanced up to where her team were setting themselves up for another play. "Gentlemen," she called out, attracting their attention. "Ladies. I'm sorry to do this, but duty calls. I'm afraid that today is a work day."

There were groans and protestations from the team, but they reluctantly began to head off her lawn.

"Miss Jones?" she said. The younger woman looked over. "Ride with me. We have some things to discuss." Hetty pointedly ignored the curious look on Callen's face.

* * *

The automatic doors parted with a barely audible hiss, as Callen led his partner into the darkened technical cave that served as their Operations Centre.

"What have we got, Eric?" he said, automatically.

The computer whiz looked up from his handheld device, blinking through his thick rimmed glasses. "What do you mean, 'What have we got?'"

"Exactly that. What's the case?"

Eric's features contorted further into confusion. "I… don't know?" he tried gamely. "I was at Hetty's with you. I literally just walked in to Ops like five seconds before you."

Callen turned to Sam, only experience keeping the smile from his lips. "Eric was there?" he inquired to his partner. "I thought the football was three-on-two?"

"Seemed like that to me too," nodded Sam, instantly catching on to Callen's meaning. "I mean, I know I was rushing Callen, and Kensi and Deeks were being… well, _Kensi and Deeks_. Which, had there been three on each side, meant someone should have been covering Nell."

"I don't recall that happening," said Callen.

"I don't either," confirmed Sam. "I do remember some girlish shrieking, but I just assumed Hetty's house was haunted."

"Haunted?" asked Callen, with a raise of his eyebrow. "Can you imagine anything trying to haunt Hetty?"

"Nope," replied his partner. "So I wonder what was making all that noise?"

Eric scowled at them, while his cheeks flamed. "You guys aren't as funny as you think you are," he bemoaned. "Besides, I may not be the most physical guy, but I make up for it with my keen mind and intellect."

A soft hiss announced the doors were opening again, spilling the other pair of agents into the room, Kensi naturally leading the way. Deeks was clutching the pigskin in his hands.

"Hey," said Kensi. "What have we got, Eric?"

"You two aren't funny either," moaned Eric.

"Oh, what?" Deeks said accusingly towards Callen and Sam. "You beat us to it?"

"'Fraid so," replied Sam.

The two junior Agents made their way around the opposite side of the centre console. Callen was pleased to note that, while they stood side by side – Kensi leaning forward onto her elbows, Deeks upright, fiddling with the football in his hands – the pair still kept a small but respectable distance between themselves. It had been tricky, but the young couple had so far managed to keep the separation between their work and private relationships. Callen hoped some small part of it had been due to the lectures he and Hetty had forced them both to sit through, but it was just as likely that it was Kensi herself who enforced the line. She was definitely the more professional of the two. Deeks was… well, Deeks was exactly the same as before. Deeks was just Deeks. That wasn't to say they were perfect – and Callen would be a fool if he believed neither of them had pushed hard at the boundaries – but so far no one had caught the two doing anything they shouldn't in any darkened corners of the office.

Just then, the doors slid open once again, this time to allow Nell in. Callen craned his neck to peer behind her; the Data Analyst was alone.

"Where's Hetty?" he demanded roughly. Callen was always on edge when the Operations Manager was absent for their briefings; it usually meant there was something going on that would later come back to bite them in the ass.

The redhead initially ignored the pointed question, heading towards the big board, tapping away on her tablet as she did. She finally looked up, catching Callen's eyes. "Hetty is still downstairs," she replied, elongating her words in the way that was all Nell, "on a conference call to Director Vance and Assistant Director Granger. She'll be up as soon as she can, but in the meantime she wanted me to get you all started."

Callen nodded reluctantly, leaning back against the console and folding his arms across his chest.

Behind Nell, a series of images sprang into view; a C-2 Greyhound in one; a marine squadron photograph in another.

"This is Kilo Squad," began Nell, highlighting the squadron picture. The men in the image where smiling for the camera, dressed in desert fatigues; Afghanistan if Callen were to guess at their surroundings. "Assigned to 3rd Battalion, 1st Marines."

"_Thundering Third_," breathed Sam, a touch of respect on his tongue.

"Really?" asked Deeks, arching his eyebrow at the ex-SEAL.

"Yeah," said Sam. "_Balls of the Corps_, that's their motto. Nobody else you want around when you gotta hold a position. Tough as nails, and twice as difficult to crack."

"What's that, Sam; got a little boy crush on them?" needled Deeks.

The large man turned to face the detective. "Keep this up," he warned, "I'll crush your boys."

Deeks didn't back down, just threw Sam a wide grin. Kensi shook her head.

"Nell," said Callen, wanting to get the briefing back on track.

"Right," said the data analyst, turning back to the screen. "Kilo was recently recalled to the States from its current tour of Afghanistan, to take part in _Operation Broken Swallow_."

"What's _Operation Broken Swallow_?" This from Kensi.

Nell pulled a face. "That's all I've got."

"We need more than that, Nell," Callen said.

"That's all I got," the redhead reiterated. "Believe me, this operation is so code-word clearance only, not even Hetty knew about it. That's why she's on the phone now; she's trying to find out what she can."

Kensi let out a low whistle. "What Op could be so important that they'd recall a squad from Afghanistan just to take part in it?"

"As far as I can tell," said Nell, "Kilo Squad is uniquely suited for this mission, based on its experiences in Helmand Province during _Operation Enduring Freedom_."

"Okay," said Callen. "So where do we come in?"

"Well, this is where it gets interesting," Nell said, a small smile starting on her face. "They took off from The USS George H.W. Bush in a C-2 Greyhound for the ride home as expected, touching down at Camp Pendleton less than four hours ago. However, once they were down, the pilots quickly discovered that the rear of the aircraft was empty."

"Empty?" repeated Sam, eyebrows furrowed.

"_As in_ all the marines were missing," Nell confirmed.

"Wow," Deeks said, impressed. "And I thought it was just your luggage that airlines lost." By his side, Kensi shot him a look, simultaneously shaking her head and smiling at his joke.

Nell continued with her briefing; "SECNAV is understandably disturbed by the disappearance of 13 Marines assigned to such an important operation. Not only is it a potential security risk, but the public relations angle is…"

"Let's just say it's a nightmare," said Hetty, materialising as if from nowhere. Callen turned to find the older woman stood by Sam's side. The ex-SEAL gave a slight, almost unnoticeable, jump; he clearly hasn't heard her enter either. "And trust me, Mr. Callen, that is something you do not wish to become involved in. Carry on, Miss. Jones."

"Their CO, 1st Lieutenant James McDonald , came into Los Angeles a week ago. He's here to oversee the last minute details. He's on his way to the boatshed as we speak."

"So we need to find out what happened to these Marines," stated Callen, "as quickly as we can."

"And quietly too," added Hetty. "This was to be a short stop over; their families weren't to even know they were coming back, for the security of the Operation. As it is, _Broken Swallow_ has been put on hold indefinitely, until we can find out what happened to those Marines. "

"Anything on what _Broken Swallow_ is?" asked Kensi.

"If it becomes pertinent to the case," said Hetty. And said no more.

"Okay," said Callen, turning to the rest of his team. "Sam and I'll take McDonald; Kensi, why don't you and Deeks head down to Pendleton, take a look 'round the aircraft, speak to the pilots. See if you can get us something more. Eric, Nell, dig into the Marines as much as you need to. We need to find a thread, people."

The other agents murmured their agreements, heading towards their respective tasks. Deeks paused briefly by the open door.

"Think fast, Eric," he called, tossing the ball towards the bespectacled man. Rather predictably, Eric made a grab for the ball, catching it only with the tips of his fingers. He yelped, arms failing, trying to catch the ball as it bounced from his grip, juggling it for a brief second before it went spinning away from him to crash into a stand of folders, sending them flying.

Deeks shot his partner a sheepish glance. Then, as one, they both broke for the exit before Hetty could launch into the admonishment that was clearly on the tip of her tongue.

Shaking his head amusedly, Callen headed out after Sam, but not before casting one last look back at the squad photo.

_What happened to you?_ he thought._  
_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:- **As before, many thanks to the wonderful **Malia Amane** for beta reading this, and pointing out how much I suck at grammar. And wow, apparently spelling too, since Word just told me I spelt "grammar" wrong the first time. Hey, I just did it again. Okay, okay, I'm getting off track here a little. In this chapter, I took a few liberties, mainly with the way information is obtained from a C-2 Greyhound, and to be honest, finding what rank of pilot would fly a certain plane is tricky too. So if I'm wrong, bear in mind that it's not that I didn't do my best, I just didn't care. It's not really all that important to the plot, beyond moving it forward.  
**Disclaimer:- **I am Shane Brennan and I do own NCIS Los Angeles. Whoops, did that bad spelling thing again; that should say "_am not_" and "_do not_."

* * *

1st Lieutenant James McDonald was a tall, stalk-like youth, with a light dusting of yellow hair, cropped tight above angular features and bright blue eyes that probably looked better suited to a fashion catalogue than a marine uniform. His file said that he was 25, born and raised in Seattle, where he'd signed up for the Corps' OCS on his eighteenth birthday. He had a sharp mind, and a keen intellect, into the top percentile, which was why he had been granted operational oversight of whatever _Operation Broken Swallow_ was.

McDonald rose from the chair, his entire frame rigid, as Sam and Callen made their way into the main room of the boatshed. They shook hands, introducing themselves, before offering the Lieutenant a seat.

"I'm anxious to provide any assistance to NCIS I can," McDonald began, resting his hands – fingers clasped together – on the table before him.

Callen nodded, as he took a seat opposite the marine. "Well, why don't you start by telling us everything you know about _Broken Swallow_."

McDonald glanced between the two agents before him. "I'm afraid I am unable to comply with that request," he said. "You do not have the necessary clearance for me to inform you of the specifics."

"How about the not-specifics?" Callen said. McDonald shook his head.

"Look," said Sam, leaning forward in his chair slightly. "The more you tell us, the better chance we have of finding out what happened to your men. You did say you'd do whatever you could."

"I am fully aware of that," replied McDonald. "But as I said, this is a highly sensitive operation. The very moment it becomes pertinent to your investigation, you will need to have your director seek permission for you to be read in. Only then can I divulge any and all information you require."

Callen shot Sam a wry look. Time to try a different approach. "Guy's whole squad goes missing en route to an operation, and he doesn't think the details of the op are pertinent?"

McDonald shrugged. "My hands are tied, Agent Callen. I'm presuming that you, Agent Hanna, understand? You have the bearing of a military man yourself."

"SEALs," Sam replied.

McDonald nodded. "Orders are orders, unfortunately."

Callen shook his head. He hadn't imagined they'd be able to pry any details from the Lieutenant, but it never hurt to try. "Can you at least tell us why you came in ahead of your squad?"

"There were some final operational minutiae that I was required to arrive early to oversee," said McDonald.

"Nothing else?"

McDonald didn't reply.

"What about Kilo Squad? Can you tell us anything about them that I can't find in their files?"

"The very model of what a marine squadron should be, Agent Callen," McDonald said, his voice swollen with pride. "They were all that I could hope to lead when I received my commission. Close knit, loyal. To the Corps, to each other. Hard working and dedicated. I only wish that I could take the credit for their exceptional operational record, but that lies solely in the hands of their Gunnery Sergeant."

Callen glanced down at the thick vanilla file, open on the table before him. "That would be Callum Quiggin?" He passed the Sergeant's picture over to McDonald.

McDonald nodded. "Kilo Squadron had a reputation for being the best before I inherited them, and it rapidly became apparent that Gunnery Sergeant Quiggin was the source of their high regard. Every man amongst them admired him as a natural leader amongst men. I often questioned why he did not seek his commission."

Sam barked a small laugh. "Some people like to work for a living," he said.

McDonald smiled in response. Callen shook his head wryly; as a Chief Petty Officer by the time of his retirement, his partner had never emerged from the ranks of enlisted, and still held to their age-old military belief that commissioned officers like McDonald wouldn't know a hard day of work if it punched them in the throat.

"What else can you tell us about Quiggin?" pressed Callen.

"I must confess I'm not sure how any of this is significant to your investigation," McDonald said.

"We don't know what's '_significant'_ and what isn't," said Callen. "We can't afford to leave any stone unturned, especially since you refuse to give us any details of what _Broken Swallow_ is."

McDonald gave a small acquiescent gesture with one hand, before sighing out a deep breath. "Gunnery Sergeant Quiggin was on his second tour of Afghanistan with the Corps. He'd been eager to return; during his first rotation, he had become friendly with several of the locals, and grown sympathetic to their situation."

"Sympathetic?" echoed Callen, with a raise of his eyebrow.

"Oh, nothing like that, Agent Callen," McDonald continued. "But he felt that he, the Marine Corps, and the United States, had an obligation to the Afghani people to leave the country better off than they had found it. He was extremely vocal about this, and was successful in persuading not only the others of Kilo Squadron, but several other units within 3rd Battalion, 1st Marines. But aside from that…" McDonald trailed off. "Aside from that, he was an exemplary marine. He followed his orders to the letter."

Callen paused a moment, scrubbing the stubble on his chin. He felt convinced there was something McDonald wasn't telling him, some important sliver of information. But he knew if he pushed for it, the Lieutenant would clam up; no doubt whatever it was, it was related to_ Broken Swallow._ Internally, he sighed. Not knowing the details of the operation… it was like trying to work a Rubik's Cube blindfolded. You knew you had something in your hands, and could manipulate it, but without being able to see the colours you had no way of knowing how close you were to solving it.

"Okay," he said. "What about the rest of the squad?"

* * *

"You know, I never pegged you as such a blatant cheat."

Kensi pulled the SRX into a parking space, only looking over at her partner when the vehicle had stopped fully. The blond haired Detective was watching her easily, a confident – and somewhat smug – grin on his face.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said innocently, pushing open the door and stepping out.

"Really?" drawled Deeks, also exiting and coming around the side of the silver SUV to join her. "You have no idea what I'm talking about?"

"That's pretty much what I just said," she replied, turning from him and starting to walk towards the airfield that lay in the centre of Camp Pendleton. Deeks hustled after her, falling easily into step by her side.

"So you're saying that you don't remember, not too long ago, saying that you could beat my ass at football on any day of the week?"

"Oh no," Kensi replied, her shoulder jostling against his as they made their way towards the tarmac. That was only natural; they'd both, long before they even became a couple, fallen into a subconscious habit of walking so close to each other that they had no choice but to accidentally create a physical contact. "I remember saying that. And I'm pretty sure that's what happened."

Deeks snorted a laugh. "Well, ignoring the fact that there was only one play, and nobody managed to score – though I, uh, I may have been pretty close to, uh, scoring in a totally different way if Hetty hadn't called the game off." Kensi rolled her eyes at that, trying not to grin as the memory flooded back. It seemed like nature always conspired to get the pair of them tumbling to the ground, her atop him, again and again and again. "But still, I think we should address your totally obvious cheating during that one and only play."

"Again, Deeks, I have no idea what you're talking about," she lied, intentionally bumping into him this time. Besides, _he_ was the one who always cheated; whenever they made love, he would use his fingers to make sure she…

But her partner pulled up short, and Kensi thankfully didn't get to finish that train of thought. She paused, turning back to face him. "You don't know what I'm talking about?" he said, eyebrow raised, a cocky curl to his wolfen grin. He held up the sleeve of his T Shirt which was stretched out of shape. "I'm talking about this. You know what this means?"

"Does it mean it's time for you to update your wardrobe?" she asked, turning away again and continuing on towards the aircraft. Deeks scurried after her.

"No, it doesn't mean that. It means that you, Kensi Marie Blye, are a cheat of the worst kind," he accused.

"How does the fact that you clearly need someone to dress you make me a cheat?" she asked.

Deeks held up a hand to halt her again. "Hey, you know, I'm not saying that I'd have a problem with you dressing me, since I always enjoy the undressing part," his voiced dropped, lecherously, and Kensi fought the blush that threatened to engulf her face. "But this is from you pulling on my arm when I was trying to catch the ball."

"Right," Kensi agreed. "I stopped you from catching the ball, that's what I was supposed to do."

"But you can't do it like that," he whined.

"Says who?" she inquired with as much innocence as she could muster.

"Says the rules. It's called holding."

"So?"

"So, it's not the kind of holding I enjoy," Deeks finished, with only the slightest hint of amusement.

Kensi scrunched her face up, shaking her head even as she struggled against the huge grin that threatened to split her features in half. Deeks was such a goof. And the weird part about that was, as much as it annoyed her when they first became partners – and still did sometimes now, if she was being honest with herself – it was one of the things she loved the most about her scruffy boyfriend.

"Besides," he continued, "it's against the rules. It was touch football."

"I think it was pretty obvious that no one really cared what type of football it was," she countered.

"So you'd have no problem with me, uh, with me, you know, grabbing your ass while I was covering you?"

Kensi's lips thinned as she sucked down another smile. "No, but I think Sam might have if you had to cover him."

Deeks laughed again, richer this time. "Really?" he said. "Okay, that was a good one. Well played."

Kensi bit her bottom lip, eyes flicking briefly down to his. Before, when they'd bantered, she'd been able to prevent herself from kissing him only by sheer force of will. But these past five months, now that she'd tasted those lips on her own, it was getting to be a monumentally harder task. The week they'd spent recently, covering the phones in the office during the night, hadn't helped the situation any.

Thankfully, Deeks had a lot more resolve in these matters than she – and probably any of the others – gave him credit for. "Come on, William Perry" he said, gesturing towards the nearby airstrip with a nod of his head. "We've got a job to do."

A few brief moments later, the junior agents found themselves by the side of the C-2 Greyhound, still parked outside the hanger. A ring of members from the Provost Marshall's Office encircled the large gunmetal grey aircraft, while inside the two pilots stood silently by the nose. Kensi flashed her badge to the nearest officer, who waved her and Deeks inside the perimeter.

"Captain Weatherfield?" said Kensi, as she approached the two pilots, presenting her badge to them. "I'm Agent Blye, NCIS, this is my partner, Detective Deeks."

The grey-haired pilot's eyes narrowed as he glanced from Kensi to Deeks. "Detective?" he said, voice heavy with confusion. "I didn't know NCIS had a detective rank?"

"I'm not NCIS," Deeks replied. "LAPD."

The knowledge didn't clear the confusion from Weatherfield's face. "What does this have to do with LAPD?"

Kensi shot her partner a look out of the corner of her eye, but he waved his hand dismissively. "No, I…It's a whole thing, don't worry about it."

Kensi swallowed the sigh that was forming. Deeks insistence on remaining with LAPD was his choice, no matter her personal feelings on the matter. She just wished he'd hurry up and sign his paperwork. It wasn't going to impact their partnership or relationship, and she'd sleep easier knowing that LAPD wouldn't be able to take him away from her for an undercover assignment, or – worst still – end his liaison status completely. Oh sure, they'd still be able to see each other outside of work, but she found it comforting to know that the man she loved, the man she trusted above all others, had her back when she was out in the field. That wasn't to say she needed Deeks with her constantly; he could still grate her nerves at times, and she valued her alone time, treasured her own apartment – mess and all – and the space it offered her.

"Captain Weatherfield," she said, looking to get the conversation back on track. "We need to ask you and Lieutenant Rand some questions."

Weatherfield nodded, as did the dark-skinned co-pilot. Rand flashed Kensi what could only be described as a charming grin, white teeth shining through his open mouth. From the edge of her vision, she saw Deeks scowl at the man's reaction, and a small smile curled at the corner of her lips.

"Lieutenant Rand," she said. "Why don't you and I step over here to talk? Captain Weatherfield, my partner will have some questions for you."

"Of course, Ma'am," Rand said.

"Please," Kensi said, as sweetly as she could, placing a hand on the man's bicep. "Call me Kensi."

This time Deeks face slipped into astonishment, his mouth agape. Kensi glanced over at him, her features schooled, daring him to comment. Finally, Deeks gave a small snort, muttered an "Alright," before gesturing for Weatherfield to follow him a few meters away. Kensi watched them go, before turning back to Rand. The Lieutenant was a tall man, with a broad chest, the muscles under his shirt straining against the fabric. Rand was pretty much everything Kensi would have once been interested in; clean shaven, with a military bearing and attitude. But of course, now her taste ran to something slightly more… messy and casual.

"So, Lieutenant," said Kensi, her voice professional now that Deeks was out of ear shot. "Why don't you take it from the top?"

Rand flicked his eyes over to where Deeks was already talking to Weatherfield, before smiling and _hmmm_ing with understanding. Kensi fought the blush.

"Well," he began, voice like a baritone. "As we already stated in our debriefing, we departed the _George Bush_ on schedule with a full contingent. We landed, and the ground crew opened the rear compartment. It was only then that they came forward to tell us that the rear of the plane was empty."

"Did you do any checks during the flight over?" Kensi asked.

"It isn't something we do. I guess this has never happened before." Rand smiled easily.

"What about the operation they were heading home for?"

Rand shrugged. "That's not the sort of thing they tell us," he admitted. "We just go where they point."

"You know the marines at all?"

Rand laughed, shaking his head. "Nah, everything's just cargo to us. Sorry."

"Okay," said Kensi, handing him her business card. "If you can think of anything else…"

A moment later, both pilots had departed, leaving the two partners alone. "You get anything?" asked Deeks.

"Nothing more than we already knew," Kensi informed him. "Or didn't know, as the case may be."

"Not even his phone number?" Deeks' voice was too calm, too collected, and Kensi tilted her head, grinning.

"Why, is someone jealous?"

"Me?" he said, voice high. "Jealous? Of him? What do I have to be jealous about?"

"I don't know," Kensi said, voice mocking. "I guess I've always had a thing for marines. Who's to say I'm not looking to upgrade?"

"Please. How can you do better than this?" Deeks asked, gesturing up and down his body.

"I could just be looking for someone who doesn't compare me to William Perry." Kensi turned away, striding towards the Greyhound so Deeks couldn't see the huge grin that split her face.

"Touché," he said. Kensi glanced over her shoulder at that, letting him see the smile this time. He beamed back at her.

Together, they climbed into the back of the aircraft, Deeks muttering about the safety of Greyhounds as he always did whenever they were aboard one. "I'm going to check out the cockpit," she informed him, droning out his complaints. "Why don't you see if you can find anything in back?"

"Ah," he said, already pulling his black gloves from his back pocket and slipping them on. "You're going to leave the actual detective work to me?"

"No, it's because even you can't possibly get into trouble back here," Kensi retorted, already heading forwards. She slipped into the cockpit, taking a seat in the pilot's chair, the leather creaking under her. She sighed, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her face. Then she leant forward, flipping open the black box recorder on the dash in front of her. She brought up the information. The fuel usage was consistent with the flight plan that had been logged, which indicated they hadn't landed at any out of the way strips to deposit the marines; there had been no alterations in cabin pressure, meaning that no doors had been opened in flight. She sighed again.

A moment later, Deeks made his way into the cockpit, standing just behind her and resting the palm of his hand on her shoulder. Without even realising it, she raised a hand of her own, rubbing the pad of her thumb against the back of his wrist, on the bare skin just above his gloves.

"You find anything?" he asked.

"Nope," she replied. "It's like they just vanished into thin air."

* * *

"Thanks, Kens," said Callen. "Make a start on the marine's houses; see if anything shows up there." He flipped the phone off.

"Anything interesting from Romeo and Juliet?" ask Sam as he reached for the door of his black Challenger.

"Whole lot of nothing," said Callen. "Faded like smoke in the wind."

Sam let out a small laugh. "That's almost poetic," he said.

Callen shot him a look. "Just get in the car, Sam."

As Sam pulled his car out of the boatshed's parking zone, Callen's phone rang again. He glanced down at the caller ID, before answering. "What have you got, Eric?"

"_Not much, unfortunately_," came Eric's tiny voice through the loud speaker. "_We got the footage from the _George Bush_. It shows the marines boarding the plane, and then it taking off a few minutes later."_

"Anything on the Pendleton side?" asked Sam.

"_The plane landing, and only the pilots and ground crew anywhere near it_," said Eric. "_We've checked both videos; there's no evidence of tampering or manipulation_."

"Alright, Eric. You find anything, you keep us posted" said Callen, hanging up.

* * *

To her side, Eric ended the call to Callen. Nell had only been half listening to their conversation, her mind set on the reels and reels of data displayed before her. Pages of financial statements, pages of after-action reports, phone logs; the list of information she shifted through would have most people go cross eyed. Not Nell though; the data seemed to stream into her conscious like a flowing river, washing over her, as she sorted through it. If anyone asked, she honestly wouldn't be able to explain how she handled such large quantities of raw information, and would probably change the subject.

It wasn't that she was embarrassed by her IQ, quite the opposite. Other people got embarrassed by it. In fact, the last person she'd trusted with the actual figure had told her it made him feel like a 'slack jawed yokel'. Even Eric, who needled and pried on an almost weekly basis, would no doubt look at her differently if she…

"Hold up," she said, as her brain picked up an anomaly.

Eric scooted his chair across Ops to her side, peering over her shoulder at the screen before her. "You found something?"

"I think so," she said, highlighting the line.

"That's pretty weak."

"It's better than nothing," she informed him, already reaching for the phone. A few rings later, it was answered. "Callen?"

"_Please tell me you got something, Nell_." Callen's voice issued from the speaker.

"Maybe," she admitted. "I was going through the phone logs of the marine's family and friends, and I think I found something. About two hours after the plane landed in Pendleton, one of the wives received a call that lasted less than two minutes. I ran a trace on the caller ID; it's a brand new, unlisted burn phone, and that's the only outgoing call from it."

"_You got a name_?"

"Uh, yeah," she replied, bringing up the file. "Rachel Comiskey."

There was a brief pause on the other end. "_Did you say Comescu_?" said Callen, his voice cracking slightly.

"Uhm, no, I…" she began, before Callen interrupted her.

"_Nell, please confirm; did you just say Comescu?_"

"I said…"

"_Wait,"_ came Sam's voice, cutting in to the conversation. "_Comescu? How are they involved?"_

"_I don't know_," said Callen, a dangerous edge to his voice. "_Nell, are the Comescus involved in this_?"

"_I thought we killed the last of them when you took down Dracul last year_?"

Nell closed her eyes at their stupidity. "Listen, you two," she snapped, surprised by the harshness of her tone. Even Eric pushed his chair back a ways. "I said Comiskey. _Com-is-key_."

There was another long pause. "_Oh_," said Callen, finally.

She sighed, rubbing her temple. "I'm sending her address to your phones now."

"_Thanks, Nell_," said Callen. "_We'll go check her out_."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:-** As always, many thanks to **Malia Amane **for being the beta reader from heaven. Any mistakes after it goes through her are my own. Also… why do I always seem to update on a Tuesday? Do people care about updated fanfics when there's an episode due? Especially one where Kensi and Deeks are in the sneak peek _again_? Anyway, this chapter took a while to complete; I can usually breeze through the Densi scenes with ease, but this time it took me a while to wrangle it. You can probably tell by the sheer amount of prompt one-shots I've posted recently, trying to get back into the swing of them. As usual, I hope you enjoy.

* * *

The big black muscle car pulled up to the kerb, the engine cutting out a second later. The leather of his chair creaked as Callen leaned forward, looking across his partner and out the window to where the single story bungalow stood opposite them. It was painted a deep green, with bright white trim around the windows and door to match the small picket fence that edged the tiny lawn.

"You know," said Sam, "that this could be totally innocent. A coincidence; someone got themselves a new phone and just called to let the Comiskeys know what the number was."

Callen scratched the stubble on his chin. "Could be," he admitted. "But we can't afford to assume anything is a coincidence right now, since we actually know nothing more than we did an hour ago."

"Okay," said Sam. "So how you wanna play this? We can't exactly tell her why we're looking into her husband's disappearance."

Callen nodded his head. "No, that'll just raise too many questions. And if she does know something…" He trailed off, leaving the implication hanging. They couldn't afford any small thread to rabbit, not with the stakes as high as they were. He pushed the door open, stepping out before crossing the deserted street, Sam at his side. "Follow my lead," he said, a plan forming in his brain as he strode up the paved pathway towards the front door.

"I don't like the sound of this," called Sam, before following him.

Callen grinned. "Don't worry, you'll be fine."

Callen rapped his knuckles against the door. A few seconds passed, with no response. He glanced over at Sam, who was already peering through the main window. Then, Sam looked back, nodding once. A second later came the unmistakable sound of a lock clicking, and the door opened as wide as the chain would allow. Through the gap, Rachel Comiskey peered out. She was in her mid twenties, with long ginger hair, and a speckling of freckles on her face.

"Rachel, hey," said Callen brightly, a wide grin fixed on her face. "He about?"

"I'm sorry, I don't…" Rachel began, her voice shaking.

"Peter. Is he in?"

"I'm sorry," Rachel said again. "Do I know you?"

Callen affected an affronted look. "It's Bob. And Faruq." He gestured to Sam, who grinned in greeting. "We're friends of Peter's from Pendleton? We've met ten or twelve times? I think you know my wife, Susan? Anyway, we just wondered if he wanted to go grab a few beers. We haven't seen him in months."

Rachel's eyes flicked from Callen to Sam, and back again, but she made no motion to unlock the door. "My husband is still on deployment," she said, words clipped.

Callen narrowed his eyes. "Are you sure? I thought he was back this weekend?"

"No," said Rachel. "He's not due back for another three months."

"Told you," said Sam, jovially.

"No, no," Callen said. "I'm pretty sure I heard he was back now."

"I'm afraid you heard wrong," Rachel said, quite sharply. "If you'll excuse me, I need to get ready to go out."

"Oh, of course. Sorry to take up so much of your time." Callen turned, starting to head off, before pretending to think of something. "When Peter's back, get him to call me, okay? And remind him he still owes me ten bucks. He knows what it's for."

Rachel didn't reply, just closed the door. A second later, the lock slid back into place. Callen led Sam back out to the street.

"Well, she was lying," said Sam, as they stopped by the side of his Challenger.

Callen barked a laugh. "What was your first clue? Some people just don't have the ability to lie convincingly. Like you for example."

Sam paused in the process of reaching for the door handle, glancing up in confusion. "What'd'ya mean?"

"Like when you say you were a great receiver. You certainly have a unique way of remembering what actually happened."

Sam's face went blank. "What?" he monotoned.

"I'm just saying, I've seen the tapes of you playing in high school," said Callen with a grin.

His partner's features darkened dangerously. "Where did you…?"

"Michelle gave them to me."

Sam began to stutter an outraged protest, but Callen glanced over at the bungalow, weighing things in his mind. "You're right though; Rachel Comiskey knows more than she's letting on," he said. "If we're lucky, we might just get our first break in this case."

"So what do you wanna do?" asked Sam.

"Well, she said she was heading out. If that's the case, we follow her, see where she goes. And if not…" He rubbed his chin again. "If not, we sit on the house and see if anything turns up."

* * *

Nell's fingers flew over the keyboard, inputting and creating fiction as they went, a steady stream of false birthdates, school records, credit scores. Nothing too deep, just enough to withstand a casual glance, but that didn't mean she was going to put in half an effort. That just wasn't her style. Besides, if you cut corners when it didn't matter, what was to stop you getting into bad habits when it did?

At the desk besides her, Eric sighed theatrically for what could well have been the hundredth time. And, for what was also probably the hundredth time, Nell ignored it. Her Ops partner was supposed to be busy running through all the CCTV footage he could find, from in and around Pendleton, looking for a trace of the marines – _I mean_, thought Nell, _they can't have just literally vanished off the face of the earth. Can they? _– but so far, was coming up with squat. How a sizeable body of men could disappear from a sealed aircraft without anyone knowing was…

Eric sighed again.

"What?" said Nell, not looking up from where she was photoshopping a school website's Year Book page.

"Nothing," Eric replied.

"Okay."

A few seconds passed, the only sound in the room the gentle hum of computers and the clicking of keys, until; "It's just," Eric began, before trailing off. Nell swivelled her chair to face him, affixing him with a stern glare.

"What?" she asked, again.

He looked over finally. "Sometimes I wish the guys wouldn't mock me about my physical fitness. I may not be field trained like them, but I'm not a weakling."

Nell felt her eyebrow arch. "And it wouldn't have anything to do with you being afraid to get involved in the football game? I mean, really, what do you expect?"

Eric's face contorted into a scandalised expression. "What?" he sputtered. "That's not what happened. I didn't want to hurt you is all."

"Hurt…?" Nell started, her eyes widening in shock before narrowing dangerously. "The only thing that you hurt is my feelings. Cause it means you're not treating me like an equal. I'm not a porcelain doll, Eric, and as sweet as it might be, I actually don't need you to protect me."

Eric's mouth did an astounding impression of a guppy fish at feeding time. Then he had the good grace to blush, and avert his eyes. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "If we play again, I won't hold back."

"Good," replied Nell, nodding sharply, before returning her attention to the screen before her, hiding a smile. Her long talks with Kensi had paid off; it certainly was fun to keep the boys on their toes by being unpredictable, even more so when you were completely in the right.

Speaking of Kensi… Nell reached for the phone. A few seconds later, the agent answered. "You're all set, Kensi. Ready to go whenever you are."

"_Thanks Nell,"_ came the tinny response. "_Make the call."_

* * *

"I'm so glad you could fit us in last minute," said Kensi.

The blonde beamed back at her, the kind of wide smile that only a trained investigator would recognise as being completely bullshit. "It's no problem, Mrs Sumners" Katy Buschel replied. "When your office called, I was able to move some things about."

She was pretty hot though, Deeks had to admit. Hair so bright it was almost white, long sensual body, tight skirt over an amazing ass. For a brief second, he thought about throwing his most charming grin at her - maybe try to make up for Kensi's atrocious attempts at making him jealous by flirting with that pilot guy – but thought better about it; they were supposed to be a newlywed couple, looking for their first shared apartment, and hitting on the realtor certainly wouldn't help sell that fabrication.

There was also the fact that everything about the woman was a con, from the tight skirt to the open buttons on her blouse, designed to befuddle men and make a sale. And when it came to being distracted by sexy things, men were certainly the weaker gender. Though thankfully, he had the stunning brunette, currently standing with her arm linked around his, to make sure he hadn't already placed a down payment.

"You two are just the cutest thing I ever did see," the realtor gushed, the slightest hint of a Texan accent still audible. "Have you been married long?"

"About two months," Kensi replied, forcing a blush onto her cheeks. She held his hand, leaning against his shoulder and tilting her head back to gaze into his eyes. Deeks stared back, mesmerised, feeling himself falling in love all over again. "I've known Jonathon for years, but it took me the longest time to finally snag him."

"What can I say," Deeks added, a smug grin on his face. "I'm a great catch."

As the realtor turned away to lead them down the corridor, Kensi made a dry heave, pantomiming it for Deeks' benefit. He stuck his tongue out at her in retaliation.

"Well, here it is," said Katy, gesturing to the red wooden door, the number _8b_ on it. She unlocked the door, pushing it wide and led the two agents into the apartment. Deeks let out a low whistle as the room opened up before them. And open was certainly the correct term; the walls were spread wide apart, and even though it was currently bereft of furniture, he could tell that there would be plenty of space. The kitchen led directly on from the living room, giving the apartment even more of an open plan feel. When Katy reached the large windows that covered almost the entirety of one wall, and pulled the blinds wide – bathing the room in rich bright sunlight – it seemed to shine with the warmth of home. It was certainly bigger than Deeks' own place, but if they were in the market for somewhere new, he and Kensi's combined wages would more than comfortably cover it.

Deeks let his arm slip around his partner's waist, pulling her in close, their hips bashing together easily. "Wow," he said, not even needing to stay in character. "It's nice. You like it, Rebecca?"

"Yeah," replied Kensi, head swivelling this way and that. She started to pull away, but Deeks tightened his grip on her. She shot him a small, mysterious smile, but didn't move again.

Katy crossed back into the middle of the room, her high heels clicking on the hardwood flooring. "And I don't even need to tell you that this place has all the modern conveniences; air conditioning, en suite bathroom…"

"Hot and cold running water?" Deeks interjected with a grin.

"Naturally," she replied, clearly not realising it was meant to be a joke. At least Kensi gave a small snort of mirth. Katy continued; "As you saw, security in this building is above reproach. Getting into the main lobby requires a unique pin code, and the front desk is manned 24/7. We're in a good area, too; LAPD, ambulance dispatch and local fire services are both within only two blocks."

"That's good," said Deeks, letting his thumb run down the line of Kensi's jaw. They'd already known about the security procedure; it's why they'd needed to pose as a couple of prospective buyers of a conveniently empty apartment on the same floor as Quiggin's, just to get through the front door. And, it turned out, the firm that ran security would also run a background check on you before they'd allow that, which meant Eric and Nell had to get a little creative. "I only want the best for my princess."

Kensi giggled girlishly, accepting the gentle kiss he pressed against her lips. Then she pushed him away slightly, not with her usual force, but as much as someone like Rebecca Sumner could muster. "Stop it," she tittered, but didn't disentangle herself from his arms.

Katy watched the interactions with interest. "The schools in the area are, well, second to none. Speaking of…" She began to walk deeper into the apartment, stopping by a door. "Second bedroom. Now, obviously, you can use this as a guest room if you wish, but it could also be set up as a children's room. It's never too early to start planning these things."

Against him, Deeks felt Kensi's whole body stiffen, and her smile became forced and sickly.

"We, uh…" began Deeks. "We're just taking things one step at a time."

Katy smiled brightly back. "Of course. And naturally, the space could also be converted into a home gym if that's more your style." The woman was smooth, Deeks would give her that, moving from one subject to the next with ease. She'd actually make a damn fine agent if she had chosen that career path. "If you'll follow me, I can…" Her phone ringing cut the realtor off. "I'm so sorry," she said to the agents, before flipping the cell on. "Katy Buschel."

Deeks watched with interest as Katy listened to the voice on the other end of the phone, blood draining from her face with each passing second until she was little more than a white sheet. "I'll… I'll be right there," she stammered, ending the call. She looked up, blinking as if seeing the couple for the first time. "I need to… I'm sorry, but I need to… there's an emergency."

"Oh dear," said Kensi, voice thick with sympathy. "Well, go, go. We'll look around, and then let ourselves out when we're done."

Katy nodded. "And you'll stay in touch?" she asked, some small part of her brain able to keep her job in focus.

"Of course," Kensi assured her. Katy smiled again, before dashing out the front door. Kensi and Deeks watched her go.

"I really don't wanna know what story Eric gave her to get that sort of reaction," Deeks said.

"No, me neither," Kensi replied, finally extracting herself from his grip. "So, what was that all about?"

"What, uh, what was what all about?" Deeks asked.

His partner raised an eyebrow at him. "All the kissing and the holding."

"What, we're supposed to be a newly married couple, I was selling the cover."

"That's not what married couples do," Kensi said.

Deeks laughed slightly. "You always say that, and you're always wrong. I'm pretty sure by this point you've never seen what a married couple looks like."

"Have too," she snapped.

"Besides which," he continued, "you're my girlfriend, it's not like we don't do that sort of stuff all the time anyway, you know?"

"Oh," said Kensi, stepping close to him and catching his eyes again. She licked her lips. The disarming expression on his partner's face put Deeks on edge. "And this was your subtle way of reminding me of that, is it?"

"I don't, uh…" he stammered, taking a half step back.

"So someone smiles at me, and this is the sort of reaction I can expect from you?"

"You think I'm overemphasising our relationship cause some handsome marine pilot smiled at you?" Deeks exclaimed, eyes wide and jaw slack. Kensi shrugged slightly. "You really think I'm jealous? Of that guy?" he continued. "What would I possibly have to be jealous of that guy for? Oh, but hey, by the way, and in absolutely no way related to that discussion, but since we're alone, you wanna, uhm, wanna go find a closet to make out in?"

Kensi rolled her eyes as she turned away. "Oh my gosh," she muttered, already heading to the door.

"Kensi?" he called after her, grinning. "Pumpkin patch?" Deeks laughed as he scurried after his partner. "Sunshine? You know I'm only half joking, right?" He paused by the door. _I'm so glad she has more restraint than me_, he thought, with a shake of his head.

* * *

The comforting weight of her SIG in her grip, Kensi led her partner into Quiggin's apartment. As Deeks went right, she took the left corridor, swiftly finding herself in the bedroom. Once she was convinced every corner was empty, she cleared the bathroom.

"Clear," she called, hearing Deeks answering cry a few seconds later. She tucked her SIG into the waist band of her jeans as she made her way back towards the living room to meet him. Deeks was already pulling on a pair of black latex gloves, eyes roaming across the space around them.

Quiggin's apartment, smaller than the one they had just looked at, had the comforting air of a military occupant. Every little thing was squared away, in its own individual place. It made her remember the places she had lived with her father, all those years before. Donald Blye liked to keep his house neat and orderly. Sometimes, Kensi wondered just how that desire had seemed to skip her. The funniest thing was, she had never considered herself to be a messy person until Deeks had stepped foot in her place; a gentle joke about her tidying habits had been the first thing passed his lips.

"You could really take some pointers from this guy," Deeks said, clearly reading her thoughts in that irritating way he had. "See, Kens? If you ignore the fine layer of dust, this is what a tidy apartment looks like."

"I am tidy," she lied at him. "We can't all be OCD like you."

"If I was OCD, I'd probably mind more that my place is starting to look as bad as yours does. You really should try and tidy up after yourself."

She shot him a dark look, which only prompted a wolfen grin to appear on his face.

"This place," said Kensi. "This place has the feel of someone who wasn't going to be back for a while."

"Makes sense, I guess," Deeks replied. "He knew he was going on deployment, and… hey, I found something!"

Kensi glanced over towards the window, where her partner stood.

"Looks like Quiggin left his laptop," he finished.

_Left his…? _Kensi cocked her head to one side, deep in thought. _That doesn't sound right. Why would Quiggin leave his laptop out, if he was deployed? Surely he'd take it with him?_ Something didn't….

She was already racing towards her partner as she saw him pick the laptop up, hearing the familiar click of a pressure sensor, screaming his name.

"DEEKS!"


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:-** I will never feel like a broken record by thanking **Malia Amane** for being an awesome beta, and her hot pink text amendments to my work To the rest of you; sorry about the few-week delay given the cliff hanger I ended with. Hopefully, the resolution will be a suitable salve for that.  
**Disclaimer:-** Only characters that don't appear on CBS's NCIS Los Angeles are mine. The rest… I would fight Shane Brennan for. Fight him to the bitter end.

* * *

Even years later, Katy Buschel couldn't have told you what made her look up at the apartment block if you'd paid her. She'd been halfway back to her powder blue Kia, rushing out in the middle of showing an apartment to a young couple, _driven_ out really by the call that told her that her precious dog, Hamlet, had been involved in an automobile accident, when she'd paused and glanced back at the building. Maybe some part of her had sensed it even as it had happened, sensed something wrong with the world. She'd told her therapist that it had been like the sound had been sucked out of the world. Even as she'd watched, it came flooding back, with the great roar of an explosion.

A fireball burst from the window of one of the apartments, the second floor one owned by the marine, red hot flames licking out from the shattered glass. But it hadn't been the explosion that had broken the pane; instead, it had been the two bodies, the young couple. The man had come out first, his back being the impact point that had broken the window in truth, though from her position against him, it appeared as if his wife had barrelled into him, shoving him out. Out into the open air they'd come, before the wide tongues of the flames enveloping them for a second. Katy only had a second to gasp, before they tumbled out of range of the blast, hurtling towards the ground below.

Well, that wasn't technically true. There _was_ hard and unrelenting ground below them, but above the ground was a thick bush, all twisted undergrowth and the sharp thorns of roses. The couple hit the bush at full speed, the thick branches cracking and snapping under their combined weight, and blocking them from Katy's view.

* * *

Twigs snapped and cloth ripped as Deeks dragged himself through the thick foliage, creating a large enough hole for Kensi to follow him out. After a moment's struggle, he reached daylight, depositing them both on the rough soil. Kensi lay atop him like a comforting weight. Around them ash drifted gently to the ground; ash and burnt remains of whatever else had been inside Quiggin's apartment.

"You okay, Kens?" he asked, hands roaming over her, searching for any visible sign of injury, pushing her ash-littered hair clear so he could see her properly. Her face was smudged with dark stains and littered with tiny cuts and scrapes that he could only imagine were the mirror of his own, but beyond that – and the tears in both their clothing from the sharp thorns – there didn't seem to be anything beyond superficial damage.

"Yeah," she replied, panting hard, eyes locked on his and seemingly drinking him in. "You?"

He grinned. "Never better," he replied. In his chest, his heart still raced, but he could feel the all too familiar come down from the adrenaline surge. Kensi pushed herself up so she was kneeling beside him, and he raised himself onto one elbow. "Plus, I managed to keep hold of this too," he said, waving Quiggin's laptop for her to see. It still smoked slightly from the flames, but he'd managed to clutch it tight to his chest even as Kensi had ploughed into him at full speed and sent them both flying out of the window.

She smiled at him, showing her teeth, eyes closed as she shook her head in disbelief. Then her eyes snapped open, twisting into anger and she drove her fist into his shoulder as hard as she could.

"Ow-w-w-w," moaned Deeks, half in pain, half laughing in surprise. "What the heck was that for?"

"Do you have any idea how close I just came to losing you?" she snapped at him, and Deeks saw tears forming at the corners of his partner's eyes.

Deeks laughed again, shooting her a wolfen grin. "You're not that lucky," he told her. Then he wrapped his free arm around her back, pulling her in close to his chest. She tried to struggle free, but he held her tightly, peppering soft kisses against her forehead. "I'm glad you're okay too, Sunshine," he whispered. "You're the most important thing in the world to me."

As he held her, he felt the tension seep from her frame, until she all but melted against him. Still, he could hear the occasional snuffles against his ruined T-Shirt. Eventually, the professional attitude returned to Kensi – a hell of a lot quicker than it did to Deeks, if he was being honest – and she extracted herself from his embrace, pushing herself to her feet. She scrubbed the heel of her hand against her eyes, succeeding only in further smudging the ash over her face. Deeks barked a laugh again; she looked like a really hot panda bear.

"Come on, Marty," she said with a smile, offering him a hand and pulling him to his feet. "We can't afford for you to lie down all day; we've got a job to do."

"Yes, sweetheart," he replied, following her away from the smoking building, before stopping short. Not too far from them stood the Realtor, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging slack as she took in the devastation around them. Deeks coughed, clearing his throat. "I, uh," he began. "I don't think we'll be taking the apartment."

* * *

"Heads up, G," said Sam, straightening in his seat and dropping the origami shape he'd been working on. Callen instantly lowered the crossword book, senses heightened. He cast his eyes across the road, where Rachel Comiskey was just finishing locking her front door. As she dropped her keys into her bag, she darted her eyes up and down the street nervously, before scurrying to the sidewalk.

"Well, someone's paranoid," Callen said.

"She could just be cheating on her husband," said Sam.

"Could be," admitted Callen. "You wanna lay odds on it though?"

Sam shook his head. "No. This whole thing is…"

"Hinkey?" completed Callen.

"Yeah."

Across the street, the woman had reached her car. With one last look up and down the row of houses – eyes skipping over the Challenger and its occupants with the air of inexperience – she slipped into the silver Prius. Sam waited until it was halfway down the street before pulling his Challenger from the kerb and following.

The two Agents kept a respectable distance from the Prius, but never letting it out of their sights. A few moments later, they passed the Comiskey residence again.

"Circling the block," said Sam. "Checking to see if there's anyone following her."

"Hmmm-hmmm," agreed Callen.

The Prius reached the end of the road again, indicating to go left. The Challenger pulled in four cars back. However, when the lights changed, Rachel turned to the right. Sam followed suit.

"Basic technique," said Sam. "Checking to see if there's a tail, and then shaking one if they missed it."

"Which she did," said Callen. "She's got the technique; she's just not very good at it. It's almost as if she's been told what to do, but never really implemented it in real life. If she had even a modicum of experience, there would be no way she wouldn't have spotted you by now."

"Hey," exclaimed Sam. "I am great at tailing suspects."

"Just like you were a great receiver."

Sam scoffed. "There is no way Michelle gave you any tapes of me in High School. Cause if she did, there is no way you wouldn't know how damn good I was."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Fumbles."

Sam was about to hotly retort when Callen's cell ringing interrupted him. Callen flicked it open.

"What's up, Kensi?"

"_Quiggin's apartment, for starters_,"the young agent replied, voice sounding from the speaker. "_In flames that is_."

"What happened?" Callen asked.

"_We triggered some sort of booby trap. The whole place exploded."_

Callen felt his heart sink. "You two alright?" he asked, fearing the worst.

"_No, we're fine, just a couple of cuts and scrapes_." There was a slight pause. "_Plus Deeks needs a new set of clothes again." _Callen could imagine the grin on her face. Then her voice turned sombre_. "Callen, I think there's more going on here than we first thought."_

"Tell me about it," he replied. "Do you think the bomb was rigged by Quiggin, or to take him out?"

"_Still too early to tell_," she admitted. "_But we did manage to recover a laptop. Once we're done with LAPD and the Fire Department here, we're going to head back to Ops and see if Eric can pull anything useful off it."_

"Okay," said Callen, nodding. "Keep me posted."

"_Will do_," she replied, before ending the call.

Besides him, Sam sighed. "This just keeps getting worse and worse."

"It's about time we caught a break in this," Callen said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I really don't like not knowing what's going on."

Sam barked a small laugh. "Well, I think we might have found our first bit of good luck," he said, as he pulled the Challenger up to the side of the road. Callen looked up, taking in their surroundings again; they had followed Rachel Comiskey to a small café not far from the Monterey Park Shopping Mall in Reseda. On exitingher Prius, she headed straight to the café, where a blonde haired man in jeans and a plain white T-Shirt sat at one of the outside tables. The two embraced deeply, before taking a seat.

"That's who I think it is, right?" said Sam.

"Sure looks like it," replied Callen, raising his camera and snapping off a few quick shots of the man. He then flipped on her cell. "Eric," he said, when the tech operative answered. "I'm sending you a couple of pictures. I want confirmation of the subject."

"_Will do_," came the reply. There was a brief pause, the only sound the furious clicking of a keyboard. "_Okay, got the pictures, running them now… and we have a hit. That's PFC Peter Comiskey. You found one of our missing marines."_

"Thanks Eric," said Callen, hanging up. He turned to Sam. "So what do you think? Bring him in or follow and see where he goes?"

Sam took a moment to collect his thoughts. "Usually, I'd say follow him. But… the explosion at Quiggin's place makes this a whole new ball game. I think we grab him now."

"Agreed," said Callen, already stepping out of the Challenger. "But if this goes sideways, I'm blaming you."

Sam threw him a grin. "Sorry, G, you're team leader. The buck stops with you."

Together, they crossed the street towards the café where the Comiskeys were deep in an animated discussion. As they neared, they could make out some of the words.

"What two guys?" demanded the marine, his voice thick with concern.

"I don't know," replied his wife. "Two guys showed up at the door, said they were old friends of yours."

"PFC Comiskey," called Callen as he approached the table, his tone firm and authoritative. The man looked up, confusion clear on his features. "NCIS…"

Sam watched as first Comiskey's eyes widened, then the blood drained from his face. He knew what the PFC was going to do a second before it happened, but even so, when the marine snapped to his feet, sending the round metal table tipping over, sending glasses and plates flying, it took a moment for the fact to register in the ex-SEAL's brain. Rachel Comiskey was still shrieking in surprise even as her husband reached the kerb, but Sam and Callen were moving too, their feet pounding on the pavement as they gave pursuit.

"Federal Agents," yelled Callen at the top of his lungs, for all the good it would do them.

Sam saved his breath, concentrating instead on the chase. Comiskey wasn't like a lot of the petty thugs the Agents chased down on an almost daily basis; he was a trained marine, at the peak of his physical fitness. And he seemed to know a little bit about evasion, as he darted directly out into the street and the heavy flow of traffic, twisting this way and that to avoid impact. Horns honked and vehicles skidded aside to avoid hitting him, but succeeded only in colliding with each other with the crunch of twisted metal. Callen slowed, holding his hands up and Whoa-whoa-whoa-ing to prevent himself being run over, but Sam didn't; when a black Ford Mustang neared him, he leaped up, sliding his butt across the bonnet and not even slowing down in the slightest.

By the time he reached the opposite pavement, Comiskey was half a block down, but struggling to force his way through the thick press of pedestrians. Shoppers and tourists alike were sent flying as the marine pushed his way passed them, but it was costing him valuable seconds, and slowing down the pace of his escape. Sam, however, had no such trouble, as the civilians around him were already parted from the fleeing Comiskey, leaving a large enough gap for the big man to pick up the pace, and close the gap on the suspect.

A moment later, Comiskey darted to the right, taking another street, and almost ran directly into a mother pushing her baby in a stroller. Comiskey dodged aside at the last second, but his foot caught the back wheel and he stumbled forward, pitching off balance. It was enough for Sam, who launched himself into the air, coming down with his full weight across Comiskey's back and driving the other man to the ground.

"Federal Agent," Sam yelled as the marine struggled beneath him. "Stop resisting. Stop resisting." A few seconds later, Callen was at his side, SIG out and trained on the marine. Upon seeing the silver gun pointed directly at him, Comiskey complied. With little effort, Sam bound the marine's hands behind his back.

"You good, Sam?" asked his partner, as they manhandled the marine to his feet.

"See this? This is why I was a great receiver," said Sam, starting to walk Comiskey back towards the Challenger. "Cause I catch everything."

* * *

"I want my JAG lawyer," said Comiskey, his jaw set determinedly. On the table before him, his cuffed hands were clasped together, fingers interlaced. He passed his cool grey eyes first over Callen, in the chair opposite him, then over to where Sam leaned against the doorframe of interrogation.

Callen ignored the request, opening up the manila file. "_Private First Class Peter Comiskey_," he read aloud. "_US Marine Corps. 3__rd__ Battalion, 1__st__ Marines. Kilo Squadron_. That's you, right?"

"I want my JAG lawyer," repeated Comiskey. He met Callen's gaze, features still.

"See," continued Callen as if the other man hadn't spoken. "The funny thing is that PFC Comiskey was supposed to have been on a C-2 Greyhound headed to Camp Pendleton from Afghanistan." Silence greeted the statement. "So what I suggest is this; if you want a JAG lawyer, you need to prove to us that you are, in fact, PFC Peter Comiskey. And to do that, we need you to tell us why you weren't at Camp Pendleton; you need to tell us why instead wefound you in the middle of Los Angeles?"

"Lawyer," said Comiskey again, biting off each syllable.

"Well, that's the thing about that," said Callen, closing the file. "Lawyers are only for people who deserve them. Unless you haven't heard of a little thing called the Patriot Act? Means we can hold your ass here until you're old and grey."

The marine leant back into the wooden chair, his body relaxed despite the situation. Callen wondered if the marine was calling his bluff; his total combined knowledge of _Operation Broken Swallow_ was zero, so he had no idea if it endangered national security to that level. Comiskey would know, however.

"Is that what you want, Private First Class Peter Comiskey… if that is, indeed who you are? Do you want to rot in a damp cell for the rest of your natural life? Never seeing your wife again? Do you want her to live the rest of her life knowing that you are a traitor, that you betrayed this country?"

Comiskey's mouth tightened further. Callen sighed; he wasn't going to get anywhere like this. He scooped up his file, rising from the chair, and heading to the door.

* * *

"He's not going to break so easily," said Sam as he closed the interrogation room door behind him, following Callen into the main section of the boatshed. "A marine squad… a marine squadron is like a family. And for a lot of these people, it's the only family they've ever known. Comiskey is no exception; his file says that he was in and out of foster homes for years before he signed up. The corps gave him a stability that he lacked. They live together, train together, eat together. They're closer than his brothers."

"What's your point Sam?" asked Callen, watching the monitor feed closely. On it, Comiskey still sat rigidly, hands clasped before him. "The same could be said for us."

"That's exactly my point, G," the big man said, opening the fridge and pulling out two ice cold bottles of water. He tossed one to his partner, who caught it easily. "He's not going to roll over on his family just cause we applied a little pressure. He'll gladly do his time and take a dishonourable discharge to protect his family."

Callen uncapped his water, taking a long glug. "So what can we do?"

"We need to find something more than the threat of jail," said Sam, sipping his own water. "Especially since we still don't know why the entire squad jumped ship like that. We need some actual leverage."

"The wife?" suggested Callen. "He did take a pretty big risk, breaking his cover to contact her, even more so to meet up."

Sam shook his head. "I don't think so. He loves her enough to risk whatever's going on, true, but I don't think she knew anything, so there's nothing to apply pressure with there. And I'm betting Comiskey knows it. He didn't bite when you brought her up in there."

"You know what I hate, Sam?"

Sam grinned. "When I'm right?"

"Yeah. Though thankfully, it doesn't happen that often." Then he sighed. "But whatever we're going to do, we're going to have to do it fast if we want to make sure _Operation Broken Swallow_ is secure."

"_Hey guys,"_ came a sudden voice as the monitor shifted and asecond image appeared on the screen, this one showing Ops and the fresh face of their data analyst.

"Please tell me you got something off Quiggin's laptop, Nell," said Callen.

"_Not yet,"_ she replied. _"Eric's still trying to hack his way in; it's rotten with firewalls, plus it took a bit of damage in the explosion, so we need to work around that too. But I did some more digging into financials and we found something interesting."_

"With the marines?" asked Sam.

"_No. With the pilots."_

Sam's eyebrow arched. "The pilots?"

Nell's grin was a large beam. _"It turns out both pilots recently opened offshore accounts, both of which received rather large cash deposits two days before Kilo squadron disappeared, a quarter of a million dollars in total, and the same again just a few hours ago."_

"Are they still at Pendleton?" Callen asked.

"_No, but we managed to trace their cell phones. One of them's actually not too far from Venice Beach."_

"_Deeks and I are closer,"_ said Kensi, stepping into frame. She'd changed her top to a white button down blouse, but even through the screen Sam could see light cuts and scrapes on her visible skin. _"We'll go pick him up. You two keep working on Comiskey."_

"You're sure you two are alright?" Callen asked.

The brunette smiled. "_We're fine, don't worry about it. We've lived through worse."_

"Where is Deeks anyway?"

"_He's still getting changed."_

"What's that," said Sam, a hint of playfulness in his tone, "the third outfit he's worn today? What are you two doing out there?"

Besides him, Callen smirked. The woman on the screen, however, affixed them both with an unamused glare that Sam was pretty sure he'd seen on his mother's face a few times.

"Stay safe out there," said Callen. "Both of you. And keep us in the loop, okay?"

"_Will do_," Kensi replied, before the feed cut out. Sam turned to face his partner, unable to keep the amusement off his features.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:-** Thanks to **Malia Amane** for the beta work, and laughing at all the right places. It's always good to know if something is working before I release it to the wilds.  
**Disclaimer:-** These characters, as you would hopefully know by the fact that I've written this exact same statement on several dozen previous chapters, do not belong to me. Whether this is a good thing or not has yet to be established.

* * *

Kensi led her partner back into the mission, keeping a few paces ahead of him. Usually, they'd be walking so close that their shoulders would have no choice but to bump together. But now…? Yeah, that wasn't happening.

"You didn't need to do that," she informed him, over her shoulder.

"Oh, really?" he replied. "And, uh, what would you suggest I'd done?"

"He had a gun, Deeks."

They entered the bullpen, moving around to stand by Kensi's desk. She finally turned to face him. He shrugged, noncommittally. "It's not like I planned it," he said. "It, it was just, you know, instinct. I didn't have time to go for my gun."

"I did." She sighed. "So don't try and be macho, it doesn't suit you."

"Alright, first of all, '_Hey_!" he said, fixing her with a pointed glare. "And second of all, I just told you, I just reacted. That's all."

"No, no, no," she retorted. "You wanted to feel all macho and beat the guy up. Green is not a good colour on you."

"For the hundredth time, I was not jealous. What do I have to be jealous of, huh? I mean, I already won, so…"

She arched her eyebrow at him. "I am not some prize, Deeks. You don't win or lose me, you…"

"Ahem," came the pointed cough, interrupting Kensi's response. As one, the two agents turned to find Hetty glaring at them, her hands grasped firmly behind her back. Over the bridge of her glasses, she swept her eyes up and down the detective's frame. "Ms. Blye, Detective Deeks," she said, her voice holding no trace of amusement. "Perhaps you could be so kind as to explain why not only does it appear that you brought the contents of the Pacific Ocean with you, but why you also seem to be pooling said ocean on my floors?"

Kensi sucked in her lips briefly, before she flicked her eyes down to Deeks' ratty brown shoes – she really needed to find a way to make sure they disappeared mysteriously into the local dump, but only after they'd been just as mysteriously set on fire – to find that a wide and expanding puddle of water was in fact already forming underneath her partner. She could now also see the slug-like trail he'd left from the doors to the bullpen. Hetty was right about the amount of water too; even now, an hour later, Deeks' clothes were still fat and heavy with water, and his blond locks slicked to his skull. In fact, the only reason she'd allowed him into her car in that state to begin with is because they were on a deadline, and even then she'd made him put down a towel and promise to valet clean the inside.

Deeks looked back up at Hetty, a look on his boyish face that could only be described by the word 'busted.'

"Well, detective?" pressed Hetty again. "I'm waiting."

Deeks cleared his throat nervously, glancing at Kensi for moral support. She tried to give him a level stare back, but it was spoiled by the faintest hint of an amused smile on her lips. "Well, Hetty," he began. "As you, uh, as you know, we went off to apprehend one of the pilots."

"And were you followed by your own personal rain cloud?"

Deeks gave a little laugh. "Something like that." Kensi leant back against her desk, letting her mind wander back as Deeks began his tale.

She'd pulled her silver SRX into the first available parking space they could find. At this time of day, with the last few hours of sunlight, Venice Beach was packed with tourists, surfers, couples and gaggles of friends, all seeking the last rays to bronze their skin. The sidewalks were packed, as was the golden sandy beach; it was the price they paid for working in a popular tourist spot. The pair exited the car, into the hustle and bustle of the moving throngs.

"Hetty's going to kill you, you know?" she told him, conversationally.

"What for?" Deeks replied.

"For taking those clothes out of Wardrobe without her permission."

Deeks shrugged. "Couldn't be helped, I've already ruined two sets of clothes today. Besides, nothing bad's going to happen to them, and I'll return them before she even notices they're gone, so I'll be fine."

"It's your funeral," she replied. "Which I won't be attending, if you're curious."

"Oh, please," he said. "You'll be there. You'll be inconsolable, crying for months."

"I'll probably bring a date," she told him. He returned her smile.

"So, where did Nell say we were going exactly?" asked Deeks, pushing the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt back up his forearms.

"We're not too far from the phone's GPS location," she replied. "It hasn't moved for the last few minutes, so we just need to keep an eye out for him."

Deeks nodded, before craning his neck around, baby blue eyes peering this way and that. He did, Kensi noted, linger a moment too long on a group of bikini clad girls for her liking, and she stomped down her flicker of jealousy. She shook her head. Deeks was Deeks, and he wasn't going to stop looking at pretty girls just because they were together. As long as he didn't do anything more than look they had no problem, especially since Kensi herself wasn't going to stop looking at pretty boys either.

_Uh oh_, she thought. _Speaking of jealousy…_ She'd spotted their target, pacing up and down not too far from them, his cell phone pressed to his ear. Lieutenant Rand had changed out of his uniform, and into a pair of board shorts and T-Shirt. He didn't seem to be paying much attention to his surroundings. A second later, Deeks spotted the pilot, and she felt his whole body stiffen.

"Am I glad it's him," he said.

She sighed. _Men and their posturing_. It was usually adorable, to see how much they thought it mattered, but not right now. "Deeks," she warned him. "Don't do anything stupid."

"Like what?" he asked, as they began to make their way towards the oblivious Lieutenant. "Relax," he said a second later. "I'm okay, I'm not jealous."

She shook her head in disbelief. Just then, Rand happened to look up. His mouth hung agape as he spotted them, eyes bugging out wide. "NCIS," she called to him, but she already knew what was going to happen.

Rand dropped his cell phone, breaking away from them. But Deeks was already moving towards him, Kensi a half second slower. "No, no, no," cried Deeks, "I hate when they run. Why do they always run?"

The pilot had good speed, his long limbs carrying him further into the swell of people, which he dodged nimbly around. Kensi suddenly recalled that his bio stated that he liked to run marathons. Not that it'd do him much good; most of their foot pursuits were over in seconds, so Kensi and Deeks trained for the sprint. She was already eating up the small distance between herself and her partner, who was also gaining on the pilot, when Rand darted to the left, feet pounding on the wooden planks as he made his way out onto the Venice Pier. If anything, there seemed to be even more people on the pier than elsewhere, with fisherman lining the edges, and small children clutching balloons in their grasp. Rand tripped on something, stumbling forward, but managed to keep his momentum going, scrambling back to a vertical base without losing much speed.

But the agents were closing on him, and Kensi knew that the Lieutenant was running out of space; not too far up head, the pier ended. Rand reached the railing in a matter of seconds, screeching himself to a halt. He span, and she could already see the glint of metal in his hand as he pulled his pistol up towards his pursuers.

Kensi slowed to a stop, her hand reaching into the back of her jeans and pulling out her own SIG. "Don't do it," she yelled at Rand. But from her side she heard a guttural bellow; Deeks wasn't slowing down. The pilot balked a second, shocked that the detective was still hurtling towards him, and that half instant pause before he could shift his weapon was enough. Deeks drove his body against the Lieutenant, still at full speed. The impact sent them both staggering backwards, Rand's back hitting the railing. But the momentum wasn't going to stop there, and together they pitched over the top, disappearing from Kensi's sight.

"Deeks," she cried, rushing towards the barricade, even as she could hear the heavy splash as the two men hit the water below.

Hetty, needless to say, was less than impressed as Deeks finished his story with how he'd dragged the pilot back to dry land, where Kensi was waiting for them. The Operation's Manager didn't sigh, didn't even blink. Just stared at Deeks until he looked away.

"I'm still not hearing a reason why there is a trail of water in my building a mile long," she said, finally. "Do you not keep a spare set of clothes in your Go-Bag?"

Deeks flushed slightly, flicking his arm up to scratch at the back of his head. The motion sent thick droplets of water spattering over Kensi. Thankfully, none went over Hetty. "Well, see," he began. "The thing about that is, as you know my clothes kinda got stretched out of shape, and then my spare kit got kinda slightly blown up."

This time Hetty did blink, and she re-examined their LAPD liaison as if seeing the actual clothes he wore for the first time, rather than the water that was logged in them. "Are those _my_ clothes, Detective Deeks?" she asked, voice high.

_Oops,_ thought Kensi. _I did try to warn you._

"Well, see, the thing is…" Deeks started, before Hetty cut him off.

"Go, take a shower, get out of those clothes before you warp the flooring. I will try and find you something to wear that I can afford for you to ruin, and I'm sure we have a mop and bucket somewhere with your name on it. And Detective? I believe we shall have a long and interesting discussion about you helping yourself to items from wardrobe without asking just as soon as this case is over."

Deeks looked like he'd rather have another conversation with Sam about tradecraft, but he sullenly headed towards the showers. Kensi followed after him. "See," she began. "I told you that…"

"Ah," called Hetty, loudly and cutting her off. "Alone I think, this time, Ms. Blye."

Kensi looked back, suddenly aware that several of the nearby agents were staring at them, and felt her face turn beetroot red. Slowly, she crept back towards her desk, as her partner continued off towards the showers.

_Wait a minute_, she thought a moment later. _What did she mean by 'this time?'_

* * *

"I'm telling you, I don't know anything," said Rand, sullenly. His eyes were wide with fear; the calm exterior he'd displayed before had melted under the steady glare of Sam and Callen. He swallowed nervously, eyes flicking around the upstairs interrogation room as if he were searching for a way out. "I already gave my report of what happened with the marines."

Sam loomed forwards across the desk, towering over the seated pilot, who shrank back, his still-damp clothing creaking as he did so. "Then why'd you run?"

"I don't, uh…" Ran swallowed again. "I don't know. That's the God's honest truth. I saw someone calling me, and I guess I just… it was just a fight or flight reaction."

"That why you pulled a gun too?"

Rand nodded. "Yeah, yeah, look, I'm sorry, I really am, I don't know why I did it. I just don't know."

"You know what, G?" asked Sam, leaning back again. "I think I believe him."

Callen moved from his place in the corner of the room. "I do too. He's got an honest face."

Rand nodded again, urgently, as if trying to enforce that belief in the two agents.

"You know," continued Callen, "a lot of the time, people only run cause we're chasing them."

"That they do," added Sam. "And we only chase 'em cause they're running. But you got an honest face, so we're gonna give you the benefit of the doubt."

Callen stuck his hand out towards Rand. "Well, thank you for your time, sorry to have been an inconvenience."

Rand examined the hand, as if seeking some sort of trap. "I… I can go?" he stammered.

"Of course you can," said Callen, hand still outstretched. "You wouldn't lie to us. You had nothing to do with this; we have your report."

Still suspicious, Rand nevertheless took the proffered hand, and shook it. Callen couldn't help but feeling like he was shaking a damp fish. Rand rose, shuffling slowly towards the door, eyes locked on the two agents.

"Oh, one more thing," said Callen as Rand reached for the door. He gestured to the chair. "Why don't you take a seat for a sec?"

Rand nervously returned to his chair.

"It's okay," said Sam gently. "This'll only take a moment, and since we know you're such an honest guy, and wouldn't lie to us. So why don't you tell us about the half a million dollars that were just wired into an offshore account in your name?"

Rand sighed, closing his eyes, his entire body seeming to go limp. "They promised no one would find out," he breathed a moment later.

"Who promised you?" pressed Callen.

"Quiggin and his squad," said Rand. "They paid us the money to open the bay doors of the plane in mid-flight and let them parachute out, then adjust the read outs so it looked like nothing had happened."

"Why?"

Rand took a second, hovering in his indecision. Then, finally, he continued. "They found something in Afghanistan, some priceless artefacts and things like that. They were smuggling it back to the US with them, and were going to disappear and start new lives on the profits."

Callen craned his head to see Sam, arching his eyebrow. _This_, he thought, _changed everything_. His partner's features were already twisting into a mask of rage.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:-** **Malia Amane** did the thing. The Beta thing. So big props, as always, for pointing out all the times I suddenly stopped typing in the middle of a wo  
**Disclaimer:-** I have composed a Haiku:

_I do not own this  
These are not my characters  
Please don't sue my ass_

* * *

The door to Interrogation One burst open, causing Comiskey to jump out of his seat a full two inches. Into the room roared Sam, like a rampaging Juggernaut.

"Sam," called Callen, helplessly, as his partner strode purposefully towards the marine, before towering over him. Sam seethed, his face taking on an angry red hue. Like an enraged bull, he snorted deep breaths out through his nostrils. Even the hardened sailor before him shied back a little.

"You ain't no marine," Sam accused. "You're a two bit thief. You don't deserve to wear that uniform."

Comiskey licked his lips, his earlier cool exterior faltering under the unleashed wrath of Sam Hanna.

"You're a disgrace," continued Sam, and Callen could tell he was barely keeping his rage in check. He scrambled over, grabbing his partner by the waist and tugging against him.

"Calm down, Sam," he ordered, but Sam paid no heed, straining against Callen's arms. "Don't do anything you'll regret."

Sam jammed his thick finger towards Comiskey's face. "You're a disgrace to that uniform, you're a disgrace to the Navy. I'm ashamed to even be associated with you. Always faithful? That's what you marines say, huh? Don't make me laugh. You ain't a marine; you're a common crook!"

Callen, with a great deal of leverage on his side, was able to back up the huge ball of fury. He pushed Sam into a corner, using his own body as a shield. "I said calm down." A moment later, Sam seemed to ease slightly, the set of his body loosening. Callen craned his neck to look at Comiskey, noting the beads of sweat that littered the man's face. "Look, you gotta give me something, man. I don't know how long I can keep him back."

* * *

"Nothing like dinner and a show," said Kensi, swallowing a huge bite of her burger.

Deeks grinned to himself, watching the grease trickle down his partner's chin. Her questionable eating habits were just another part of why he loved her so much. He tossed the remains of his own meal into the bin, wiping his hands on the handful of napkins. "Ya know, it's, uh, it's always fun to watch you guys work. We can't get away with tricks like that in LAPD. Everything's gotta be one hundred percent above board."

"Well, maybe you should become an Agent, so you can join in the fun?" Kensi replied, not taking her eyes off the monitor, where Callen was still pleading with Comiskey for some information.

"I think I have enough fun on the job as it is," he said, putting as much leer into his voice as he could muster. Kensi finally glanced over at him, catching sight of the huge wolf-like grin he had plastered onto his features.

She sighed, shaking her head, and grinning back at him. The Kensi Special, he called it. "Sometimes I wonder why I put up with you," she told him.

"Cause you're in love with me."

"Yeah, well that seems to be less and less the case every day," she retorted. Her voice was steady, but the corners of her mouth twitched up, letting him know she didn't mean it.

"That's fine," he replied. "I'm totally okay with our relationship being based solely on sex."

"Because we both know that worked out so well last time."

"Touché," he said, grinning, before he returned his attention to the large monitor. He hopped up to sit on the edge of the table as he watched Sam, straining against Callen, trying to get his hands on the cowering Comiskey. Unfortunately, despite his fear, it also appeared that the marine wasn't going to cough up any information any time soon.

"Dammit," Deeks grumbled a moment later, scratching at his ribs, rubbing the fabric of the polo shirt he wore.

Kensi glanced over again. "What's up?" she asked.

"It's this shirt," he moaned. "It's so itchy. In fact, it's so itchy, I think Hetty might have done something to it to make it so itchy. Do you think she'd put itching powder on it intentionally?"

"I did warn you not to take her things," Kensi informed him. "So if I were you, I'd stop complaining."

"But it itches," he whined.

"Then stop scratching it," she said, in an astonishingly accurate impression of his mother.

"What if I get a rash? What then?"

"Then you get a rash."

"But it might interfere with our purely sex-based relationship," he said, grinning again.

Kensi shot him a dark look.

"You know what might make it better?" he asked. "A hug. You know, just like a little snuggle session."

His partner shook her head, rising from her seat and crossing to his side. Gently, she leant forward, peppering a light kiss against the stubble on his cheek. "We're working, Deeks," she informed him, before returning to her seat.

"I wasn't necessarily talking about from you," he said. Thankfully, any retort she may have had was interrupted as Sam and Callen emerged from Interrogation. Sam was shaking his head, while Callen remained as straight faced as always.

"I really thought that'd work," said Kensi, as the two agents reached the table.

"Me too," admitted Callen.

Sam shook his head again. "He's too loyal to the others," he said. "I don't think he fully agreed with what they were doing, but he went along because they're his family just as much as his wife is. I don't think he's going to roll on them."

Just then, the monitor behind them shifted, to show live footage from Ops. On screen, Nell and Eric peered at them. And behind them, looming large despite her diminutive stature was Hetty.

"_Situation report,"_ she said, voice level.

Callen scratched at his perma-stubble. "Not good so far, Hetty," he admitted. "Rand was only told a little, he wasn't part of the overall plan. And Comiskey isn't going to snitch on his brother marines."

"_Well, you'll be pleased to know,"_ said the Operations Manager, _"that SECNAV agrees with your assessment; the marine's disappearance was not related to _Operation Broken Swallow_. As such, the mission will be going ahead, with a minor delay, and a new team. But, Mr. Callen, just because this case no longer has national security repercussions, does not mean that I want you to investigate it with any less than your full attention. Whatever they stole could still have politic__al__ consequences."_

"Hetty," said Deeks, scratching at his shirt again. "When have you ever known us to give less than 100%?"

"_Just try to keep your clothes on, Detective,"_ Hetty retorted, earning a round of laughter from the rest of the team.

Deeks grinned, shaking his head. "Alright," he said. Kensi, still laughing, nudged him in the ribs with her elbow.

After Hetty had departed from the screen, the agents turned to each other. "Looks like we're back to square one," said Sam, trying to hide his frustration. "We still don't know where to start looking for the marines."

"There's still the matter of Quiggin's apartment, too," added Kensi. "We still don't know who rigged it to blow, or why."

"You gotten anywhere with the laptop, Eric?" asked Callen, turning to the monitor. Eric didn't answer, just seemed to be staring off into space. "Eric?"

Nell nudged him gently, and he gave a start.

"We boring you, Eric?" as Sam.

"_No, no,"_ he replied, shaking his head. _"What did you say?"_

"The laptop?"

"_Still working on it,"_ Eric said, still seeming distracted._ "I was just thinking. What if you're looking at this from the wrong direction?"_

"What do you mean?" asked Callen.

"_Well, what about if, instead of looking for the marines, you look for what they stole?"_ His voice quivered.

"We don't know what they stole," said Sam. "And even if we did, they're gonna have it with them. Meaning we still have to find _them_."

"_Yeah, but they're going to have to sell it, right? If they want to retire off it?"_ Eric looked less and less sure of himself with each passing second. _"And we don't really need to know exactly what they have? Just, sorta, what roughly it could be that they'd smuggle it in from Afghanistan? So it's gonna be something they need to sell to a fence or something? And then, I dunno, figure out who they're likely to sell it to, and maybe work back from there?"_ His face was a mask of dorky desperation.

"Eric," said Callen. "You may suck at playing ball, but your brain more than makes up for it."

Sam nodded his agreement. "Not bad, Eric. Not bad at all."

On the monitor, Eric beamed delightedly. By his side, Nell was staring at him open mouthed, her features proud.

Callen turned back to the others. "Okay, I think I know someone we can reach out to."

"And I got some people I can speak to in LAPD too," added Deeks.

"Good," said Callen. "Go do that."

Kensi turned to the monitor. "Eric, I could kiss you right now."

"Ahem?" came a pointed cough from Deeks.

"What?" replied Kensi, already heading towards the door. "You didn't come up with it."

"No," replied Deeks, already scurrying after his partner. "But I was thinking it really loudly. Eric must have been, I dunno, picking up on my, on my brain waves."

"That'd involve you actually having a brain, Deeks," countered Kensi.

Callen watched them disappear out the door, shaking his head, before turning to Sam. "Well then," he said. "Let's so see Arkady."

* * *

The Russian who led them through Arkady's house was not one Sam and Callen had seen before. He was the usual type though; large, heavily muscled, with close cropped hair. His jacket bulged with the familiar shape of a weapon. He hadn't known who they were either, and it had taken Callen several attempts – as well as flashing his badge – to get them an audience. They followed the man up the curved staircase in the front foyer, and down a corridor.

"This is nice," said Sam, admiring the lush furniture and decorations around them. "You know, I seriously considered playing professional ball before I joined the SEALs. Sometimes I wonder: if I'd done that, would I live in a place like this?"

"The way you played," said Callen, voice dry, "I'd have been surprised if you could afford a trailer."

Sam shot him a dirty look.

Callen ignored it. "Besides, if that'd have happened, you'd never have met me."

"I'm liking this alternative world more and more," Sam said.

Callen shrugged. "Or married Michelle." Sam opened his mouth briefly. Callen smiled at him. "I'm gonna tell her you paused before responding to that," he taunted.

"Don't you dare, G," growled Sam. Callen just laughed at him.

Finally, the Russian reached a door, knocking on it. At a call from within, he opened the door, leading the Agents in. The inside was a spacious home office, with a large desk in the centre, and one whole wall covered with books. Behind the desk, Arkady Kolcheck was speaking to someone on the other end of the line. He looked up, recognised the partners, and held up a finger for them to wait. There was a soft click behind them, and Callen turned to see that the hulking Russian had exited, closing the door behind him.

Arkady continued his call, and out of respect of their relationship, Callen tried hard to not automatically translate the Russian. Finally, Arkady ended his conversation.

"I see you've got some new security," said Callen, gesturing the way the guard had left.

"Others kept dying," Arkady replied, his accent still thick despite the time he had spent in the States. "Usually around the time you come visit. I hope this is not going to become habit? Is starting to get expensive."

"Could be cause you associate with a lot of bad people," said Sam.

Arkady turned his gaze from Callen, as if finally noticing the ex-SEAL was there. "But you still have same bodyguard. Is good."

"I'm not his bodyguard," said Sam. "I'm his partner."

"Does this mean you pay less?" Arkady asked Callen, as if interested.

"It means Uncle Sam foots the bill," Callen replied. "We're looking for a fence."

"Try Home Depot," shrugged Arkady.

"If someone were trying to sell something they smuggled in from Afghanistan," Callen corrected.

"What sort of thing?"

"Something they stole, that they thought could make a lot of money. Something they need to get rid of under the radar, and not attract any attention from Afghani immigrants."

Arkady paused, tenting his fingers on the desk before him. "Is not much to go on," he said. "But I can make some calls, see what is out there."

"Thanks" said Callen. He and Sam turned towards the door.

"Maybe I look into this 'partners' thing, too," Arkady called after them. "Save myself some money."

The two agents closed the door behind them as they left. Outside, the Russian was waiting for them. As they followed him towards the doors, Sam leaned in close to Callen. "When do you reckon Arkady's gonna realise we made him an informant?"

Callen glanced over his shoulder at the room they had just left. "Oh, he knows," he said. "And he's keeping track. One day, he's gonna collect. And it's probably gonna be pretty big."

"Yeah," admitted Sam. "And I guess we'll just have to worry about that when it happens."

"Hmmm hmmm," agreed Callen.

* * *

The Pawn Shop's bell jangled as Deeks pulled the door closed, stepping back out into the California sunlight, and sighed.

"Strike two," said Kensi from his side.

"Yeah," Deeks agreed. "But at least we got another couple of names out of it. This is what real police work is like; a lot of shoe leather, chasing down every lead, working every angle. None of your fancy computers and stuff."

"Yeah, but you like working with us," said Kensi. There was a faint hint of a question in her words.

"Of course," he replied. "But I like being a cop too."

His partner pulled her lips into her mouth briefly, but didn't respond. He was about to ask what was on her mind when his phone began to ring. He flicked it onto loudspeaker. "Hey Nell," he said. "Please tell me you guys have got something. I'm wearing my shoes out here, and my legs are starting to hurt from walking around so much."

Kensi grinned at him, shaking her head.

"_Nothing on any potential buyers," _Nell replied. _"But LAPD found a couple of bodies. After running their IDs, they discovered they were marines, so contacted NCIS."_

"Okay, Nell," said Kensi, throwing her partner a confused look. "But surely someone else can take this; we're in the middle of a case."

"_That's just it,"_ said Nell. _"As soon as we got the information, it got flagged up to us. They're both members of Kilo Squadron."_

Kensi's eyes went wide, and Deeks knew they mirrored his own. "Send us the address," he said.

"_Already on your phone,"_ came the reply, before the Data Analyst hung up.

"Remember that time I told you I liked interesting?" said Kensi. Deeks nodded. "I take it back."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:-** Props to **Malia Amane** for the wonderful beta reading, for the small suggestions that make me no so suck at write thing.  
**Disclaimer:-** Do I even need to do these any more? I mean, I did a Haiku on the last chapter and no one commented on it. I'm pretty sure you don't actually read this part, so I could just write whatever the damn hell I please and you'd be none the wiser. Also, I don't own any of these characters.

* * *

At this time of year, the LA River culvert was bone dry. Deeks made his way down the sloped concrete sides, towards the flat surface below. A quick flash of their badges had got them passed the police cordon up top, though they hadn't really needed it; the cop there had recognised Deeks and was already waving them through as they'd approached. The other uniformed officer hadn't, which was why Kensi had needed to pull out her NCIS credentials.

As NCIS's LAPD liaison, it was technically Deeks's job to ensure that the federal agency were updated on cases that concerned them, ensure a smooth transition, and supply any support that LAPD could offer. Heck, he shouldn't technically work out of the Spanish-style mission. He was just supposed to be the face that NCIS spoke to. Sometimes it amazed him what his life had become since Hetty had come calling, all those years ago. It didn't take anyone very long to realise that the manipulative chess master had stolen him from the police department, and that he was essentially now just another one of her agents.

Not that he'd minded; it meant he got to work with Kensi every day, got to tease her mercilessly, watch how his flirtations left her stuttering and unsure how to react. He especially didn't mind when their banter had developed, almost too slowly to notice, into true friendship, and from there to deep love. But he still got to be a cop, through it all. He might be an agent in all but truth, but he liked his badge, liked his connection to the department. It made him feel a pride he didn't think the rest of the team fully understood. Not that they needed to; he did, and that was all that mattered.

Once they were at the bottom, the partners made their way towards the coroner's van. Deeks nodded at a couple of detectives, before they reached the two black body bags. A gaggle of Crime Scene Analysts were snapping pictures and taking detailed notes. Deeks made a mental note to use his role as Liaison properly later, to acquire copies of their reports for NCIS.

"Okay, Detective," said Kensi, her voice only a little bit mocking. "Why don't you show me how it's done?"

He tossed her a wide grin. "Okay, Pookie. But you might wanna write this down. Be prepared to be amazed."

"We'll see."

Deeks gestured to a nearby officer, who pulled back the bags, revealing the two corpses. He hunkered down on his haunches, aware that his partner was hovering over his shoulder. He smirked a little, before giving his full attention to the bodies before him.

Both had changed out of their uniforms, into civilian attire, but there was no mistaking the haircut and overall military aura that, even dead, they radiated. Deeks dug into his back pocket, pulling out his cell. After swiping through a couple of images, he found what he'd been looking for. "Petty Officers Schmidt and Jenkins," he said. "Yeah, they're definitely from Kilo squad."

"That all you got?" asked Kensi. He could hear the playfulness in her voice, but something about it made the hackles on the back of his neck rise.

Deeks rose, examining the scene before him further. "Both of them shot in the back of the head," he said, gesturing. "From the entrance holes, probably a small calibre weapon. The bullet rattled around in their skulls, turning their brains to jelly. Not a pretty way to go." His eyes travelled up and down again. He stepped around the body of one of them, Jenkins, to get a better look. "And here, bruising on the wrists. If I had to make an educated guess, cause, uh, that's what it'd be, I'd say they had their hands bound pre-mortem. These men were executed."

"Wow," said Kensi, glancing around to make sure there were no uniforms nearby. "That was actually really hot."

Deeks arched an eyebrow at that. "You know," he said, "you scare me a little, sometimes."

She gave him a wide, toothy grin. "Anything else?"

"Yeah," replied, returning the grin. Their eyes were locked together. He could see the twinkle in her mismatched orbs. "They were shot somewhere else, and their bodies dumped here."

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "How do you figure?"

"There's no blood on the ground," he replied. "Coroner's office will back me up on this."

"I really am impressed," she breathed, voice awed.

"Hey, I'm not just another pretty face."

"I never thought that," she replied.

Deeks sighed. "You're gonna say that you never even thought I was a pretty face, aren't you?"

Kensi grinned again. "It's a good start, Deeks," she said. "Now let's see how far NCIS can take it." She flipped on her phone, dialling Ops. A second later, Eric answered.

"_N'yello,"_ he said.

"Eric, I need you to look through all the CCTV footage in this area over the last, say 12 hours?"

"_What am I looking for?"_

"Someone dumped the bodies here," she replied. "If we can find what vehicle they used, maybe we can track it to a location."

"_On it,"_ he replied, before hanging up.

Kensi returned her attention to Deeks, smiling smugly.

"Alright," he said, scratching at his stubble. "It still doesn't answer any questions, though. Just raises more."

"Yeah," she said. "Why were they shot? Did they want to come clean, and were killed to silence them?"

Kensi nodded. "Or did the others turn on them for a larger cut?"

* * *

Sam and Callen sat in silence around the main table of the boat shed, watching the large screen monitors. Displayed before them, Comiskey and his wife were in Interrogation One, muttering between them. It wasn't usually a good idea to put suspects together, Callen knew. But they needed something from the marine, and maybe, just maybe, seeing how distraught the events made his wife would be enough for him to give up his squad mates. So far, it hadn't been successful, but they'd be able to trawl through their hushed conversation later, to see if anything was let slip.

He took a sip of his coffee, strong and black, the aroma and tang seeping into his body and washing away the fatigue that was starting to creep in. It had been a long day, given that they'd been relaxing on a well deserved day off when the case broke, and now the sun was setting outside. It didn't help that they'd spent most of the time since then chasing smoke – smoke that had slipped through their fingers every time they made a grab for it.

In his pocket, his cell phone began to buzz. He checked the display, and nodded to Sam when he recognised the number. Arkady was calling.

"What have you got?" he asked, putting the phone on speaker.

"_Is that how you answer phone in this country?"_ Arkady replied, voice echoing. _"You Americans have no manners."_

"We can discuss how my parents didn't get a chance to raise me later," Callen said. "We're on a schedule."

"_What you look for… there are not many who deal,"_ admitted Arkady. _"Some, but not many."_

"And you spoke to them?" pressed Callen.

"_Yes."_ There was a pause. _"They are in market, but none have any deal on the table."_

Callen felt his disappointment settle into his stomach. "And you trust them on that?"

"_I trust no one,"_ he replied. _"But I do not believe they would lie to me."_

Callen nodded, even though he knew Arkady couldn't see him. "Okay," he said a moment later. "Give me their names; I want to run them down from this end."

There was a long pause from the other end of the line_. "This, you know I cannot do,"_ Arkady said, eventually. "_Is bad for business, you understand?"_

"I need those names, Arkady," said Callen, putting force into his voice.

There was a sigh. _"Fine. But you owe me, Agent Callen."_

Callen grabbed a pen, scribbling down the list of four names, ignoring the pointedly raised eyebrow of his partner. "Thanks," he said, as he finished.

"_Tell your 'partner' my offer still stands."_

Callen grinned at Sam, who pulled a wry face. "I will, don't worry," he said, ending the call. "Okay," he said to his partner. "Let's head back to Ops, see if we can cross-reference any of these names with Kilo Squad."

* * *

The four agents arrived back at the Spanish-style mission within moments of each other. As they travelled from the parking lot into the open-plan office space, they filled each other in. A quick glance around the bullpen let Callen know that Hetty was at her desk, attention fully on the open laptop before her. As they entered Ops, he noticed that Eric was absent, leaving only the red headed Data Analyst.

"Where's Eric?" he asked.

Nell swivelled her chair away from her monitor, facing the team as they spread out around the flat-bed monitor that dominated the middle of the darkened technical hub. "He's downstairs," she replied. "Trying to salvage anything he can from the laptop Kensi and Deeks brought in."

"You manage to get anything off the cameras where the bodies were dumped?" Kensi asked.

"I did," Nell replied, turning towards the main screen. She tapped briefly on her tablet, and the image before them shifted, revealing grainy black and white footage. Through the quality was poor, Callen could make out a vehicle arriving at the culvert. Nell continued: "About three hours before the bodies were discovered, this black pickup was spotted at the scene." She fast forwarded the footage, the let it play again at normal speed. "Two men exited the car, carrying what looks to be the bodies of the marines. They made two journeys."

"Can you get any closer on their faces, Nell?" asked Callen.

"Sorry, no. The footage isn't the best, and the camera is from across the street, so they're too far away to make out any details."

"Any plates on the pickup?" asked Deeks, leaning forward across the console.

On the screen before them, the camera zoomed in more, to show a blank bumper. Nell shook her head. "No. And I lost the pickup in traffic. But I've got kaleidoscope running, and there's a BOLO out too."

"I've got a buddy who works traffic," said Deeks. "I'll give him a call."

"Good work, Ms. Jones," came a deep female voice, and only years of training enabled Callen to not jump out of his skin. He turned, already knowing that he'd find Hetty behind him. _That's not possible_, he thought. _I didn't even hear the door open_.

Suddenly, the doors hissed audibly open, and Eric raced in, his face a mask of concern and shock. "Have you guys seen…?" He stopped, screeching to a halt, when he saw the Operations Manager. "Oh. I thought you were at your desk?"

"And now I am here," Hetty replied. "You have found something, Mr. Beale?"

"Uh, yeah," he replied, and began to type furiously at his own tablet. The monitor changed again, revealing file after file of information. "I was finally able to get into Gunnery Sergeant Quiggin's laptop. There's a lot of information here, all of it hidden behind a secret partition that I almost didn't notice. I mean, that's some deep digging I had to do."

"Why don't you give us the Cliff Notes version," said Deeks.

Eric pushed his thick rimmed glasses back up his nose. "Well, turns out McDonald was right about him empathising with the Afghanis. In fact, unknown to anyone, Quiggin had actually converted to Islam a few years ago."

"So?" asked Sam. "Lots of people convert. They're not all radicals."

"That's just it," continued Eric, and the screen shifted again, to show web forums. "Between tours, Quiggin was visiting some of the more extreme websites on an increasing basis. He soon struck up a friendship with this man." The images changed again, to reveal an Afghani man.

"That's Fahran Bashir," said Callen, dread creeping into his voice. He turned to the others. "One of the new heads of al-Qaeda."

"Right," agreed Eric. "And that's when I found this." A blueprint popped up onto the screen.

"Is that what I think that is?" asked Deeks.

"That's plans for building a bomb," confirmed Kensi. Callen ignored the fact that the two partners had instinctively grabbed each other's hands. Heck, he would have too, had he had someone's to hold.

Eric turned back to the monitor. "As far as I can tell, the bomb is ready; it just needed one last thing. And now they've got it."

Another document appeared; this one looked like an email in Arabic script. "Sam?" said Callen. His partner stepped forward, eyes scanning over the document.

"It's about…" started Sam, before swallowing. "It's from Bashir. Thanking Quiggin for his sacrifice, as well as instructions on how to use the material they'd needed."

"What kind of material, Sam?" asked Callen, already knowing what the answer was going to be. Dreading it.

"That's what Kilo squad brought with them," added Sam. "It wasn't treasure; it was nuclear material."

Despite his correct assumption, Callen's jaw still dropped, and he felt his chest constrict. "A dirty bomb," he breathed, finally.

"It gets worse," said Eric, bringing up another document. "As far as I can make out, whatever they're planning on doing…" he paused, swallowing. "They're going to do it tonight."

Silence descended on Ops, made all the more jarring by the constant hum of the computer systems.

Finally, Hetty turned from the monitor. "Find the bomb, Agent Callen," she said, and Callen was shocked to hear traces of fear in her tone. "Find the bomb, and stop them."

Callen let his eyes flick over his team, one by one. As one, they all looked equally terrified and determined. _Okay_, he thought. _This is what we do. This is what we're good at._

"Let's do this," he said.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:-** Malia Amane. Beta. Props. Enjoy. Yada yada yada  
**Disclaimer:-** Not mine.

* * *

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" screamed Comiskey, rising suddenly to his feet. With a surprising amount of ease, Sam shoved him one-handed back down into the chair. Callen, meanwhile, had succeeded in manhandling Rachel up, pinning her arms painfully behind her back.

Sam could feel the tension in his jaw, feel his teeth grinding together. It took all he had not to rear back and slug the marine – _false_ marine as far as he was concerned – right in the face. He kept his arm on Comiskey's shoulder, forcing him to stay down, as he watched Callen drag his hysterical wife from the interrogation room.

"What's going on?" demanded Comiskey, his voice matching his wife's panic. "Where are you taking her?"

"GitMo," hissed Sam. "But don't worry; you'll be joining her there soon enough."

"What are you…?" he began, before the words stuck in his throat. He tried again: "What are you talking about?"

"Colluding with enemy combatants," said Callen, returning to the room after leaving Rachel with the two other agents in his team. "Cause that's what she's doing. Colluding with you."

"I'm not…" Comiskey began. "Leave her out of this."

"We'd love to," Sam growled. "But you're the one who brought her into this, when you asked her to cover for you and your terrorist buddies."

"T-T-Terro…" he stammered. Sam could feel the life slip out of the other man's frame. He turned pleading eyes on Callen. "No, look, look, you've got it all wrong. It was just jewellery. We just wanted to make some money."

"Really?" Callen replied. He opened the file before him, dropping documents onto the table before him. "This is a transcript of email conversations between your NCO and a high ranking al-Qaeda officer. This is confirmation that Gunnery Sergeant Quiggin built a functioning bomb; a bomb that he plans to detonate in Los Angeles tonight. And this is proof that you and your squad mates smuggled the nuclear material he needed back from Afghanistan."

Comiskey went white as a sheet, his eyes wide and bugging. For a moment, his mouth moved, but he was unable to form words.

"So what happened, Comiskey?" said Callen. "You all just suddenly decide that you want to blow up some innocent civilians, cause… I don't know, is there a good enough reason to not only turn your back on your own country, but attack it in the most cowardly way imaginable?"

"I don't…" Comiskey tried.

Callen tossed two more pictures on the desk; crime scene images of Schmidt and Jenkins. "Or did he lie to you too? Cause this is what happened to those of your squad who found out the truth." It was a hell of a bluff, but an educated one, and Sam could see that Comiskey was genuinely shocked by the revelation. His reactions were too real, his fear too palpable. He'd lay money on the fact that, had Comiskey not snuck off to meet his wife, there would probably have been three bodies found today.

"You gotta help us," said Sam. "You know it's the right thing to do."

"Where are they?" his partner pressed. Comiskey hung his head, and Sam knew they'd finally broken him.

* * *

Hungrily, Deeks crashed his lips against Kensi's. His hands clamped onto her waist, and she found herself being shoved back roughly, so that her spine slammed into the hard brick wall. Her arm came up, grabbing him by the back of the head, pressing against him, pushing him closer to her. In her chest, she could feel her heart hammering, racing, desperate. His lips were so warm, so soft, so inviting, and she let her own open, partly from desire and partly to let the gentle moan squeak out from her tattered lungs.

Kensi let her leg rise, wrapping her calf around the back of his thigh, pressing against him. His weight on her increased, pressing her harder against the unyielding wall of the warehouse. It took her a few seconds to realise her hips were writhing, that she was rubbing the sweet spot of her groin against the hardening in his.

Deeks panted, his breath laboured against the kiss, and his tongue slipped out to run across her lips. Hers swept out to meet it, the tips playing together in the space between their open mouths.

"_Anything yet_," came the sudden voice of Callen in her ear, making her start.

With an enormous display of willpower, Kensi managed to tug Deeks away from her, using a fistful of golden locks, and turned her head to the side. Without missing a beat, Deeks nuzzled eagerly against her slender neck, while she surveyed the building opposite them. "Nothing yet," she managed, voice quivering. "No sentries so far."

There was a pause over the comms, and Kensi busied herself running her splayed palms over Deeks' broad back. His lips kissed and licked playfully at the pulse point on her throat, sending spurs of electricity dancing through her frame.

"_What are you two doing?"_ asked Callen.

"What do you mean?" Kensi said, trying to keep her voice steady.

"_What are all those weird noises?"_

"We're doing what you told us to do," replied Deeks, and Kensi fought the whimper that formed now that his mouth was no longer on her.

"_I told you two to pretend to be a drunk couple, and get as close to the warehouse as you could,"_ said Callen. _"We need a look inside."_

"And that's what we're doing," Kensi confirmed.

"_Is this how you two normally are when you get drunk together?"_

"No," they both lied in unison.

"_You do know Eric managed to get a camera up, and can see everything you're doing?"_

"Well, you know Deeks," said Kensi, feeling especially brazen and kissing her boyfriend squarely on the lips. "He has to be method all the time."

Deeks grinned back at her. Kensi felt a thrill rushing through her body; she knew she wasn't into very public stuff, but there was just something about making out with Deeks while knowing that Ops could hear every sound they made, every moan and sigh, that just… it just aroused her. Besides, it wasn't like they were doing anything more than kissing, and the more realistic it looked, the better the chances that anyone watching wouldn't suspect they were anything other than just a young couple in love.

_It certainly isn't like we're having sex or anything. _

Even as the thought brushed Kensi's mind, she regretted it. Instantly, she could see them both, as if she were outside her own body, as they tore at each other's clothes, as they hurried to bring the other to completion, as Deeks drove himself into her again and again. Not caring who saw them, or what they thought. It was only the sudden reminder that there was a dirty nuclear weapon inside the building that stayed her hand, which she suddenly realised was achingly close to Deeks' belt.

"Trust us, Callen," said Deeks, licking Kensi on the cheek. She giggled, and he pulled her quickly away from the wall. "We know what we're doing." He linked his arm around Kensi's, staggering back into the middle of the alleyway. She leant heavily against him, feigning being unsteady on her feet. She giggled again, as girlish as she could manage, even as her heart still raced in her chest and her hands ached to run themselves across his naked flesh. Deeks theatrically shushed her, stretching the hiss out around a finger that covered his lips.

They staggered on, clutching each other as if they were a life line. Deeks twisted his neck towards her, pressing his lips to hers once more. "Still nothing," he managed, around smushed lips. "Callen, you sure this is the right place?"

"_It's where Comiskey said they'll be,"_ said Callen. _"And I don't think he'd lie to us, not about this. Not now."_

"And you've got nothing your end?"

"_No,"_ replied Callen. He and his partner were sat on overwatch in the Challenger, over by the main entrance of the structure, leaving the two junior agents to sneak in towards the back. The satellite check Nell and Eric had run had proven fruitless, with no signs of movement, so they had needed to have physical eyes on the building before they could plan their next move. _"But then, me and Sam aren't making out, so maybe we missed something?"_

Kensi knew she should blush at that, but for some reason, she didn't. Instead, she just kissed Deeks again.

"Hey," said Deeks, as he pulled his lips from hers. "Don't you worry about me, it's not the first time I've had to make out with someone as part of an op, and wow, now that I think about it, that was really the worst thing I could have said, wasn't it?"

"_Not a good move, Deeks,"_ said Callen.

"_Yeah,"_ came Sam's voice. "_Guess you really weren't listening to me when I tried to help you out."_ Both the other agents sounded like they were having far too much fun with it.

Deeks grinned sheepishly at her. "I'm gonna pay for that at some point, aren't I?"

Kensi kept her voice neutral, tapping her boyfriend gently on his cheek. "Maybe, maybe not," she replied, managing to fight the playful grin. She knew Deeks hadn't meant anything by that, but that didn't mean she wasn't going to have a little fun at his expense. "Guess you'll just have to stay on your toes."

Deeks groaned.

Moments later, they'd staggered, in their faux-drunken state, to the dark squat warehouse that Comiskey said the marines had used to store the things they'd smuggled from Afghanistan. Kensi clung to Deeks, feeling the reassuring weight of his presence, but her eyes were already skimming with practiced focus over every doorway and window. There were no external signs of life, no lights shining from within.

"Still nothing," she said. "These guys are pros; there should be at least one guard out here."

"Maybe they're busy?" Deeks asked. "I mean, they are three men down, so maybe they need all the help they can inside?"

"_No," _replied Sam, over the comms. _"Kensi's right; defending places is what these guys do, and that's rule number one."_

"_Stay frosty out there,"_ added Callen.

Deeks turned to Kensi, confusion on his face, and mouthed 'Frosty?' at her. She arched an eyebrow, gesturing towards the building with a nod of her head. He stumbled on, half dragging her with him, until they reached the doorway to the warehouse that Comiksey had given them. Kensi suddenly found herself slammed hard against the wall again, and her partner's mouth on hers. She let out a moan before she could fight it, her hands automatically going into his hair.

Then, Deeks pulled his mouth away, and she embarrassed herself by whimpering softly. Deeks turned from her, facing out into the alleyway, eyes travelling up and down, the intoxicated act slipping instantly from him. While he stood watch over her, Kensi gingerly tested the door handle. Locked. But that didn't last long, as seconds later she had her lock pick kit out, and had jimmied it open. Her hand went to the grip of her SIG, feeling the cold comforting metal beneath her palm, as she eased the door open fully.

"Come on, baby," she said, louder than normal for the benefit of anyone inside, and putting a slur on her words. "This one's open."

Inside the warehouse was darkness, the only light streaming in from street lamps through the high windows. The warehouse was large, open. And very, very, empty.

"Callen," Kensi said, all traces of her cover gone. "There's nothing here."

* * *

"Comiskey is adamant that that's the right address," said Callen, as he and Sam swept back into Ops.

"Tell me you had some luck from the CCTV cameras, Eric," said Sam.

The Tech Whiz swivelled in his chair, bringing up a whole mass of information, before a camera feed enlarged in the centre. On it, the front of the warehouse was clearly visible. "Turns out Comiskey was right," he said. "It's just that his information was out of date. While he sat stewing in the boat shed, the pickup that dumped the marines' bodies returned."

"How long ago?" Callen asked.

"About five hours," Nell said. "About twenty minutes later, we spotted this." On screen, a group of men – roughly a dozen in number – exited the warehouse, flanking around a forklift truck. On the long prongs was a covered pallet, large and heavy by the looks of things. The forklift deposited the crate on the truck, and it's rear wheels sunk at the weight. The footage stopped. "We're guessing the crate was the bomb. Weight and size seems to tie up."

"There's more people there than there should be," commented Kensi.

"Yeah," added Deeks. "Especially since the squad is a few men down. Who are the others?"

Using a complicated series of commands on his tablet, Eric highlighted sections of the frozen image, enlarging them. Seconds later, facial matches sprung up. "They're a mixture of Afghani and Iraqi nationals, most of them here on expired student visas."

Deeks shook his head. "It's always the few bad apples that want to ruin it for everyone else."

"Such is the way of the vocal minority, Detective," said Hetty, suddenly blossoming by his side. She turned to Eric. "You have a location on the pickup?"

"No," he replied, almost as if reluctant. "But the kaleidoscope search is still running."

"Make it run faster," she ordered.

"It doesn't…" Eric began, before thinking better about it.

"It's a domino chain," said Hetty. "SECNAV is leaning on Director Vance. And the reason SECNAV is leaning on me is because his boss, the President of the United States, is justifiably concerned and is leaning on him. Director Vance leans on Assistant Director Granger, who in turn is leaning on me. So I, Mr. Callen, am leaning on you."

"And I'm leaning on my team," Callen replied.

"And we lean on Deeks," added Kensi.

Deeks looked up. "Wait, what? What do, wh-, who do I get to lean on?" he asked.

"No one," replied his partner, smiling wickedly. "Unless there's a species of cockroach working for NCIS, and even then you're probably both equal."

"This is for earlier, isn't it?"

"Maybe."

"Cause you know I didn't mean it."

"And like I said-"

"Guys," snapped Callen, cutting them both off, shaking his head. "Isn't the time."

Sam crossed his arms, staring intently at the screen before them. "So what's our next move?"

"Next?" Callen echoed. "There's nothing we can do but wait."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:**- Usual shoutout to Malia Amane for beta reading. All mistakes beyond that are my own.  
**Disclaimer:-** Usual statement that I do not own these characters.

* * *

The Nakatomi Plaza building jutted high into the Century City skyline, a glistening metallic and glass testament to mankind's vision and drive. Although most commonly known as the permanent home of the Nakatomi Corporation, others floors were given over to law firms and financial analysts. At the moment, as the time neared midnight, the building sat dark and looming. Almost directly above and behind it hung the crescent shape of the moon, casting deeper shadows across the front face of the thirty four story structure. The only lights visible were the odd spackle of office lights on random floors, and the lush lobby, which was bathed a rich and inviting yellow glow.

At a low squat, the three men scurried through the darkness, before pulling themselves in tight to the waist-high wall not far from the lobby. It had been barely a hour since Eric had found them in the firing range with the news; he'd got a kaleidoscope hit on the van, pulling into the lower level car park. They'd needed to plan quickly, pulling up all available information on the building onto the big screens in Ops, running through every detail of every blueprint they could with a fine tooth comb. Hetty had wanted to send a full TAC team in, but Sam –who had worked beside the Thundering Third before and knew their techniques – argued that a smaller unit had a better chance of getting in and out. Of course, Hetty always got what Hetty wanted, so the TAC team stood in reserve, half a block away, just in case anything should go wrong.

"Stop fidgeting Deeks," said Callen, voice barely above a whisper.

"I can't help it," their LAPD Liaison complained. "I've got an itch right between my shoulder blades."

"_I can assure you, Detective,"_ said Hetty's voice, through comms, "_that I did not put itching powder on your shirt."_ She stood in Ops, no doubt with her hands clasped behind her back, as she and Eric observed the action on the large monitors.

"Okay, first of all," hissed Deeks. "First of all, I never said anything to you about itching powder. And second of all, it's not like that. It's more like, more like that feeling you get when you've got a gun pointed at your back."

Kensi's voice echoed through the static of their ear pieces. "_Maybe you shouldn't make comments about kissing other women when your girlfriend is a trained sniper?"_

"Is that what that is?" exclaimed Deeks. He shifted around, peering over at the building behind them, where Kensi lay in overwatch. "Are you pointing your gun at me right now?"

"_I can neither confirm nor deny that,"_ she replied.

"Well, just make sure you don't accidentally shoot me."

"Deeks," said Sam. "She's managed to not 'accidentally' shoot you for four years. I think you're good."

"You got eyes on, Kens?" asked Callen, determined to get his team's mind back on the task at hand. He didn't mind the banter, enjoyed joining in, but right now, they couldn't afford for anything to go wrong. Like sentries overhearing the discussion, and sounding the alarm.

"_Two snipers on the roof,"_ said Kensi, the professional edge suddenly on her tone. _"Three tangos at the front entrance. And another one – scratch that, two – roaming on the second floor."_

"You know what to do," said Callen.

There was a brief pause, the only sound the distant hum of traffic and the gentle gush of wind that tugged at their clothes. _"Tango one down,"_ Kensi said after a moment. There was another delay. _"Tango two neutralised. Roof is clear."_

"Watch our six," Callen ordered. "If anyone else comes out, take 'em down."

"_Roger,"_ replied Kensi. "_Shoot anyone who isn't an NCIS agent_."

"Heeeeey," moaned Deeks.

"_Happy hunting."_

"_Stay safe, gentlemen,"_ added Hetty.

Callen tapped Sam on the shoulder roughly, indicating it was time to move. The ex-SEAL darted forward quickly, Deeks on his tail, before they flattened themselves against the building wall. Shuffling forward slowly, they made their way towards the large glass doorway, weapons up and at the ready. Sam made a small hand gesture, and Callen darted to meet them. When he was sure they were all in place, he gave the signal for his team to pull their goggles into place.

Callen pressed the bud in his ear, activating the comms again. "We're in place, Nell. Hit it."

* * *

Half a block away, and at the top of a pole, the data analyst opened the metal box before her.

"In three, two, one," she said, before pulling the lever.

* * *

With a clunk, the lights in the building went out, casting it into inky blackness. As cries of surprise sounded from inside, the trio were already moving, Deeks pulling the door open for Sam to egress first. The terrorists inside tried to react quickly, tried to open fire, but the agents were quicker. The muzzles of their M4A1 assault rifles flashed in the darkness, the sound loud as it echoed around the marble covered foyer, and seconds later all three tangos lay dead.

"Entrance clear," said Callen, as he swept his weapon in an arch around him, searching for more targets, the eerie green glow from his night vision goggles making the world around him seem flat and lifeless.

* * *

Lying on the roof of the building opposite, Kensi's trained eye scanned the windows through her scope. More bad guys – a mix of the remaining marines and the Afghani nationals – were swarming around the upper levels like a disturbed hornet's nest, their flashlights sending beams of light this way and that. One of them, who Kensi assumed was probably Quiggin, pointed towards the stairwell that led down the ground floor. A handful of goons peeled off from the bunch, heading that way.

"You're gonna have company in four seconds," she said, into the comms.

Her three colleagues didn't respond, but a quick glance down towards the main entrance revealed that they were already moving into position.

* * *

In an alternate life, Marty Deeks could have been working in a place like this. Had things in his life gone differently, he could have been a junior partner in a prestigious law firm by now, walking into the marble clad foyer every morning on his way to his office, passed the furniture that probably cost more than his yearly salary. His office would have probably had a window that looked out onto the Los Angeles skyline, letting in the full bright sunlight.

And there had been opportunity; he could have taken any number of internships, worked his way up the firm's ladder, and right now been protecting corporations from litigation. Well, not right now; right now, he'd probably be fast asleep, getting to bed at a decent time every day. Curled up next to… well, who knows what sort of woman he'd have ended up with? Certainly not one like Kensi, that was for sure.

But that hadn't been what he'd chosen to do. Instead, he'd become a public defender, reasoning that he'd be able to do the most good for the people who needed help. And though he'd positively impacted hundreds of lives in that career, it hadn't been enough for him. He'd needed more, so he quit, and enrolled in the LAPD. Before he knew it, though, Hetty had come calling, and he found himself in a new line of work, saving more people than he'd ever though he could. It was great, but…

_But…_

So, instead of walking past the thick reception station every morning, he now found his back pressed flush against it, clutching a weapon, as a half dozen heavily armed mooks swarmed towards him.

He felt a tap on his shoulder, and glanced over. Callen made a quick hand gesture, and Deeks nodded to show his understanding; _cover me_. A second later, Deeks popped his head above the cover the station, bursting off a salvo of heated lead towards the bad guys. They scattered, shouting instructions at each other, dodging the streaks of bullets, diving for cover of their own. From the corner of his green hued vision, Deeks saw Sam and Callen leap over the reception station, ducking back down inside of it.

* * *

Sam didn't even wait for the first bullet to fire from Deeks' weapon before he was vaulting the station, sliding over the marble surface, to land on the purple carpet, his partner only a beat behind him. Together, they shuffled forward in a squat to the opposite side. With his thick muscled arm, Sam swept aside the black computer monitor, clearing himself some space.

* * *

"Deeks, honey," said Kensi, the scope pressed firmly to her eye. "You've got company coming from the left, trying to circle around you."

"_How many?"_ he drawled back in her ear.

"Three," she said. She sucked in a breath, held it, then squeezed the trigger. A split second later, her sniper rifle bucked. "Make that two."

"_Have I told you I love you today?"_ Deeks said, before moving out of her field of vision. Kensi let the smile rest on her lips for only a second, before she forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand.

* * *

The defenders rallied quickly, spraying wide arcs with their weapons – a mixture of AK47s and M16A4s – which forced Sam and Callen to remain hunkered down behind the thick wall of the reception station. Bullets pinged off the thick marble inches from their heads, making Callen wince with each impact. Sam, more experienced in fire fights like this, barely reacted. Instead, he seemed to be silently counting down, his face raised to the ceiling as he concentrated. As soon as he reached 'One', the gunfire from the opposite side of the lobby sputtered out. Even as Callen realised the terrorists were reloading, Sam was already up and firing back. By the time Callen had risen and joined in his partner's assault, three bad guys were already down. Callen took one of his own, sending the man pirouetting around, his death grip tugging the trigger of his assault rifle and ripping holes in the walls around him. The others ducked back behind cover, shouting confused instructions amongst each other.

Like silent death, Sam and Callen slunk back into cover, slipping out their spent magazines and slapping a fresh one into place.

* * *

The two men flanking from the left recovered quickly from losing one of their number, leapfrogging through cover as they closed on the NCIS Agents. The others in their group had been Afghani nationals; dedicated to their cause, yes, but untrained. Little more than cannon fodder, designed to attract the attackers fire, and martyr themselves to buy the plan more time. These two, however, had all the training the Great Satan had to offer.

Fortunately, thanks to Kensi on overwatch, Deeks knew they were coming. As the marines slipped towards where Sam and Callen were changing their magazines, the LAPD detective emerged from the deeper shadows of a large potted plant, and shot them in the back.

It was the least they deserved.

* * *

Deeks skittered forward, low enough to not present a target. He glanced around him briefly, before hunkering down by the two fallen traitors. He stripped out the magazines from their weapons, tossing them into the far corner where they landed with a clatter. A sudden burst of gunfire came from the opposite side of the lobby, shredding the wall and tiled floor around where the magazines had landed.

Deeks let out a small smile, realising that the men they faced out against were easily distracted. Getting a firm grip under one of the shoulders, Deeks began to drag the body towards his teammates.

* * *

Callen didn't like being pinned down. Their attackers had started a steady stream of suppressing fire towards where he and his partner were hidden, taking it in turns to prevent the agents from making a counter attack.

His frustration was growing with each passing second. If they didn't get passed these guys, they couldn't make it to the bomb and stop that from exploding. Suddenly, a soft scraping noise attracted his attention. He swivelled his weapon towards the source, only to see Deeks hauling one of the fallen marines across the tiles.

Callen cocked his head, knowing that the Detective couldn't read fully his expression when covered by the goggles. Deeks shrugged noncommittally, before starting to fiddle around with the flashlight he had dug out of his kit, attaching it to the body's shirt. Callen cast a glance over at Sam, who was also regarding Deeks with the same baffled expression.

With some effort, Deeks sat the body upright. Then he turned to the partners, and started counting down on the fingers of one hand. Three, two, one… With a great heave, Deeks shoved the body out of cover, the flashlight sending its beam flailing around the lobby. Instantly, the gunfire switched direction as the bad guys riddled the decoy with bullets.

They didn't have time to realise their mistake, as the three agents rose and picked them off with ease.

* * *

The silence was sudden, such a countenance to the thunderous noise of combat only seconds before. Sam arched his M4 carbine this way and that, peering into every green tinted corner.

"Clear," he said a moment later, hearing Deeks and Callen echo him seconds later. Taking advantage of the pause, he slapped in a fresh magazine, giving his gear a quick once over to make sure everything was still where it was supposed to be.

"Kens," said Callen, his jaw set. "What's going on?"

"_You're good for now,"_ came the reply, transmitted to all the agents through their ear buds. _"Looks like they're fortifying their positions one floor up, using cubicles as cover."_

Sam nodded. "Waiting for us to come to them," he said, before throwing Callen a wry look. "It's what they're good at."

"It doesn't make sense," said the team leader, still glancing around him. Sam recognised the look; Callen always sported it whenever there was something going on and he didn't have all the facts. "Why are they fortifying upstairs?"

"Maybe that's where the bomb is, so they're looking to stop us getting to it?" asked Deeks.

"No," Callen replied. "There's no point setting it off now, we're in a commercial district. Place is practically deserted."

"So they set it off later, when people are coming to work," said Sam.

Callen shook his head. "All it'd take is one person coming in early, seeing the bomb up there, and the whole area is evacuated before they can do the most damage. Unless…" he trailed off, his eyes widening. "Kensi, you got eyes on Quiggin?"

There was a brief pause. "_Negative_," she replied. "_But he could be out of my field of view_."

Callen turned to the others. "Sam, I need you and Deeks to deal with upstairs. You think you two can handle that?"

Sam glanced at Deeks, appraising him. The two men had issues, that much was true. Everything about the Detective was opposite of what Sam believed. But at the end of the day, Kensi trusted Deeks, so right now, that was enough for Sam. "Sure," he replied. "Where are you going?"

But Callen was already moving away. "To stop the bomb," he called, as he raced towards the basement stairwell.

* * *

Kensi watched her team split up, Callen heading towards the side of the lobby while Sam and Deeks crept towards the main stairwell.

Behind her, she heard the unmistakable crunch of boot on gravel.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:-** And here it is. The final chapter of Vanished. I hope you've enjoyed the ride. I know I've enjoyed writing it, when it didn't make me wanna pull my hair out in frustration. Big props as always to **Malia Amane **for the beta work; you're a true star! But fear not, gentle reader… I have big plans for the Revenge-verse. The next story might be a little while coming, but I really believe you're gonna enjoy what I have in store for Kensi and Deeks.  
**Disclaimer:-** Shane Brennan. He is the one who owns these characters. Him and CBS. Not me. I don't own them. Shame really, cause I have a lot of fun playing with them.

* * *

Callen reached the single doorway, pausing only a second before reaching the handle. He pulled the door open, the hinges creaking and echoing down the tight staircase beyond. Slapping the butt of his assault rifle against his shoulder, muzzle leading the way, he inched softly into the darkness.

* * *

"You ready, Deeks?" said Sam, casting a quick glance over his shoulder at where the Detective stood. Their Liaison scanning the area around them.

"I was born ready, Sam," came the reply. Sam nodded, once, then led the way towards the main staircase.

* * *

Kensi watched her team split up, Callen heading towards the side of the lobby while Sam and Deeks crept towards the main stairwell.

Behind her, she heard the unmistakable crunch of boot on gravel.

In an instant, she'd rolled onto her back, ripping her SIG from where it was strapped into her thigh holster. Even as she raised her service piece, her eyes sought instantly for the NCIS logo stencilled onto the chest, not seeing it; not recognising the face; noting the rifle in the man's hands. Everything had been registered and processed in the split second before she pulled the trigger twice, rounds slamming into the man's chest. The shaven-headed man staggered back, not going down, the metal slugs crunching like an accordion against the bulletproof vest he wore. He grunted in pain, before bringing his weapon up.

Kensi put a third shot right into his forehead.

Her mismatched eyes scanned the rest of the roof, looking for movement, looking for an unnatural shadow amongst the blackness. Kensi quickly determined that she was alone once more. Rolling back onto her belly, she picked up her sniper rifle, peering out into the building opposite.

* * *

Sam reached the top of the stairwell, crouching down by the door that opened out into the first floor. Deeks joined him, taking his place on the opposite side of the wall.

"Kens, you hear me?" he asked, a hoarse whisper into the comms.

"_Copy, Sam,"_ she replied a moment later.

"Tell me what we're dealing with in here."

"_I read five hostiles, armed with AK47s. Most of them are ducked down behind the cubicles."_ She then quickly reeled off the rough locations of the armed men she could see from her vantage point.

"You got a plan?" asked Deeks.

Sam nodded. "Yeah," he replied, before gesturing at the small oval window in the door. "And I need you to break that glass."

Deeks cocked his head to one side, not understanding the plan, but dug out his kit hammer regardless. As he did so, he noticed Sam pulled an item from his own kit, and let out a low "Ohhhh" of understanding. It took several heavy thuds against the thick, wire-mess security window, but the detective was finally able to create a large enough hole for what Sam had in mind. As soon as the space was made, Sam tossed the small cylindrical object through the gap, before ducking back out of the way as enemy gun fire ripped towards the door.

He and Deeks pressed their bodies flush against the wall, bullets riddling ineffectively on the other side. A brief second passed, before a loud bang rang through from the other room, and dazzling white light flared from the flash bang he had just thrown in. Then, as one, he and Deeks stormed through into the first floor.

* * *

The corridors of the basement area were like a rabbit warren, tight and twisting this way and that. The space was oppressive, especially in the almost pitch black that Callen made his way silently through. Sure, the green glow of his goggles afforded him sight, but the sound of his breathing still seemed too loud to his ears, the soft creak of his boots too thunderous.

Onward he went, the muzzle of his rifle leading the way. Each corner he came to, he inched his head around slowly, expecting an attack, ready to react to it.

None came.

Then, somewhere up ahead in the maze of twists and turns, came the clang of metal on concrete. It was followed by a brief curse, cut short by a second voice. Gently, Callen hooked his carbine onto its place on his back, before slipping his SIG slowly from his thigh holster.

Silently, like a ghost, he moved forward.

* * *

The first wave went down in an instant, still recovering from the blinding shock and noise of the flash bang. But their sudden advantage wouldn't last forever, so Sam and Deeks threw themselves aside, just seconds before a hail of fire lanced back at them from further inside the floor. Deeks slammed his back against a large metal filing cabinet, while hot slugs pounded against the opposite side. He pulled free his mag, gave it a quick check, before slamming it back into place.

Around him bullets ripped into the course blue carpet, shattering plant pots and cabinets, smashing computer monitors to smithereens. He took stock of the area; the office was wide, separated into individual cubicles by waist high dividers. From the brief view he'd had before he'd been forced to take cover, Deeks knew that the enemy fighters were using those cubicles as their own cover, hoping that the desks would proved them with more defence.

He glanced over at Sam, hoping the big man had a plan for what to do next, and gasped.

He was alone.

* * *

There was no more sound coming from ahead. What there was, however, was a faint light. It grew in brightness as Callen neared. After a moment, he stripped the goggles from his head, storing them on his webbing. Silently, he wished Sam was by his side. Then he forced the thought away.

He had a job to do.

* * *

_Son of a bitch_, thought Deeks, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. _I knew we were never gonna be the best of friends, but I can't believe he'd vanish like that._

The gunfire coming from the other side had pettered out, no doubt as the terrorists moved to a better position, or were waiting for him to make a mistake. Body shaking, he raised a hand, pressing the button on his ear bud. "Sam?" he said, trying to keep his voice down. "Sam? You read me?"

Only static replied.

From behind him came the familiar sounds of shouting, as the defenders called to each other, no doubt moving their position. Hoping to close the distance on Deeks, hoping for a good line of sight, hoping to flank him. He ground his teeth together, wondering where the hell Sam had got to, how he was going to get out of this.

He sensed rather than saw movement to his right, and rolled aside just as a fresh barrage of gunfire shredded the ground where he had just been. Deeks span to his feet, still hunkered down, and returned fire, forcing the attacker back behind cover. But Deeks was out in the open now, in the middle of the aisle between two cubicles. He raised his head, saw two gunmen burst from cover, weapons raised in his direction. He had no choice, but pushed himself upright, charging towards one of the cubicles, dropping his M4A1 to free his hands. He leapt, palms slapping against the top lip of the felt covered divider, vaulting over just as the ground was shredded by more bullets. He twisted in the air, before slamming down shoulder first onto the hard desk on the other side. Pain lanced through him, and he grunted, but continued to roll off it to crash onto the floor again.

He scrambled onto his back, panting raggedly, and dragged his Baretta from its holster, aiming it back the way he had just come, expecting to see the bad guys appear at any second.

Suddenly, the sound of gunfire sounded throughout the room. But not coming from where Deeks had expected, and not tearing into him; instead, it was coming from the far end of the room, and was followed by cries of pain. Then, the gunfire cut off.

Deeks cocked his head to one side.

"Deeks?" came a shout. "You there?"

Deeks dragged himself from the floor, his shoulder protesting. Above the maze of cubicles, he saw Sam making his way from the far end of the room, his eyes searching for movement.

"I'm here," he replied. "Where the hell did you go? I looked up and you were nowhere to be seen."

"You needed me to hold your hand?" smirked the ex-SEAL.

"No I did not expect you to hold my hand," Deeks replied, feeling his ire rise. "But a heads up would have been nice."

"I wouldn't have needed to tell Callen," said Sam.

"Yeah?" snapped Deeks. "Well, guess what? I'm not Callen."

"Tell me about it."

"Oh, you know what, I've had enough of this. Just cause I'm not your partner doesn't mean you get to treat me like crap."

Sam blinked, his smirk fading. "I…" he began, before licking his lips. "I'm sorry. I guess I just work on instinct in these situations, and Callen knows me well enough to know how I think. I saw the opportunity to get behind them, and needed a distraction. But you're right; I should have told you before I did it."

"That's all I ask," said Deeks, feeling his anger slipping from him. "Though to be honest, I'm pretty sure Kensi would have come up with the exact same scenario. I don't know why people keep using me as a distraction."

"_Cause you're very distracting_," said Kensi, through the ear buds. "_You two kissed and made up now?"_

Sam glanced over expectantly at Deeks. After a moment, the detective nodded. "Anybody else still moving, Kens?"

"_No,"_ she replied. "_Looks like you're all clear."_

"Anything from Callen," asked Sam.

"_Nothing. I can't get a signal from him. He might be in an area our comms can't get to."_

Sam nodded, before turning to Deeks again. "You ready to go pull G's butt out of the fire?"

Deeks grinned. "Why, Sam Hanna, I thought you'd never ask. Just do me a favour, huh?"

"What's that?"

"Don't, uh, don't use me as a distraction again."

Sam's laugh was deep and true.

* * *

Callen's heart thudded in his chest as he inched his way forwards. The light grew brighter now, spilling from the open doorway up ahead. He stilled his breathing, making his way through the opening. Inside, the room opened up into what seemed to be a steam distribution trunk, with thick red pipes leading here and there. A single lamp swung gently from the ceiling above, and directly below it was a cylindrical container. It matched the schematics that Eric had pulled from Quiggin's laptop to the letter.

He'd found the bomb.

But that wasn't all he'd found, as a second later – with a loud, guttural, cry – a figure burst from behind the device, his AK47 already spewing a hailstorm of bullets. Callen put him down with a double tap to the chest.

Before the body had even hit the floor, Callen swung his SIG to the left, checking that side of the room, making sure it was clear of another ambush. He swung to the right… and something heavy collided with his hand, breaking his grip. His SIG went skittering across the room, disappearing into the shadows in the corner.

Callen scrambled back, the adrenaline already pumping through his veins, senses heightened, taking in every detail of the man opposite him. Shaven head, military fatigues, carrying a three foot long lead pipe. And a face that had stared back at Callen from the big screen in Ops.

Gunnery Sergeant Callum Quiggin.

Quiggin swung the lead pipe in circles as he approached. His face was a mask of concentration and cold anger, singularly focussed on the NCIS Agent. Callen, for his part, ignored the pipe as much as he could, instead keeping his attention on the whole of Quiggin's frame. The movement of the pipe would be a distraction; any tell of when the traitorous marine would attack would come from the man himself, probably from the hips or the shoulders.

Again, Callen silently thanked the hours of Sayoc his partner had drilled with him. It meant that, when Quiggin swung the pipe at him, Callen saw the movement coming a mile away. He caught the metal under his armpit, taking a step the other way to take some of the impact out of it. It still hurt like hell, but he knew instantly that he hadn't cracked any ribs or done any serious damage.

Quiggin's cold, reptilian eyes narrowed in surprise only a fraction of an inch. He tugged against the pipe, trying to free it from Callen, but it only slipped free an inch. Callen knew he couldn't let the marine continue, or he'd have the weapon back, so seized the opportunity to butt the other man in the head. Quiggin staggered back, losing his grip on the pipe.

But Quiggin recovered quickly, pulling a wickedly edged Ka-Bar from a sheath at the small of his back. He dropped into a fighting stance, holding the knife reversed against his forearm.

"Give it up, Quiggin," said Callen. "Your men are dead. This is over." He didn't know that for a fact, couldn't know that, but was relying on the skill of his team to have resolved the situation upstairs.

"I'm prepared to die for my cause," Quiggin spat back. "Are you?"

Callen didn't respond with words, but sought to use the distraction of their discussion to his advantage, lunging forward with the pipe in a short arc. Quiggin danced back, out of range, slashing with his knife an instant later, only for it to scrape against the pipe as Callen pulled it back to protect his face. Quiggin lunged again, but Callen batted the blade aside, cracking hard against the marine's wrist, sending the knife flying opening a gap. He went for it, thrusting the end of the pipe towards Quiggin's gut.

It was a trap.

Fast, faster than Callen had ever expected, Quiggin's free hand caught the pipe, twisting it and pulling it almost too easily from Callen's grip. Quiggin tried to attack with it, but Callen was able to get another hand on it. Briefly, they struggled over the weapon, before it slipped from both their grips, clattering to the floor.

Hands now free, Quiggin lashed out with a fist, slamming it towards Callen's head. It was only a quick block that stopped the blow from knocking the Agent out. But still, it put Callen off balance enough for Quiggin to push kick him in the gut, sending him back half a dozen steps.

With a mighty roar, Quiggin launched himself at Callen, catching him around the midsection and sending them both tumbling into the corner, rolling over and over each other. Quiggin, as the heavier of the two, came out on top, his hands wrapped solidly around Callen's neck, squeezing tightly.

Callen thrashed, his breath cut off and rasping, eyes bugging, his arms flailing, trying to prize the fingers from around his throat. He thrashed, trying desperately to buck the marine off him, but Quiggin's weight was firmly on him, shifting only slightly to the side.

Then, as his vision started to rapidly darken, he saw something from the corner of his eye. Wildly, he reached out for it, fingers inching towards the object. _Just… a… few… inches… more…_

Then he had it, his fingers closing around the rectangular metal. He pulled it back, twisted it into position...

And pulled the trigger.

His SIG barked, the sound muffled by being pressed directly against Quiggin's midsection. The marine slammed backwards, but Callen pumped the trigger again and again, ripping apart the flesh.

For a moment, Callen lay there, panting harshly, trying to suck sweet oxygen back into his aching lungs; his throat burned like a forest fire. Eventually, he pulled himself upright, staring down at the body of Quiggin. Then he headed towards the device.

"G," came a familiar cry from deeper inside the maze of corridors. "You here?"

"Back here, Sam" he called, voice rasping, before cutting off with an onslaught of coughs.

A second later, Sam and Deeks burst into the room, their M4A1's raised and searching. After making sure the room was clear, they lowered their weapons. "You good?" asked Sam.

Callen glanced down at Quiggin again. "All good. Get in touch with Hetty," he said, rubbing at his raw throat. "Tell her we've secured the bomb."

* * *

The dawn sunlight, red and swollen with the potential of the day, crawled slowly through the Spanish-style mission that housed the Office of Special Projects. The four agents, bodies weary from the long night before, climbed the staircase that led to Ops, letting the automatic doors whoosh open for them. None of the group spoke as they entered, but gave silent greeting to the occupants. Nell and Eric looked equally as haggard as the field operatives. No one would be able to say they all hadn't earned their pay.

Deeks' jaw cracked as he fought a yawn, dragging his worn out frame towards the centre console. He leant casually against Kensi, wrapping his arm around her hips, knowing that it was a breach of their work rules but he was just too tired to care. And from the fact that Kensi didn't pull away, but rather leant her weight against him too, he knew she felt the same way.

"Where's Hetty?" asked Callen. Deeks wasn't surprised to see he looked more alert than the others. It was his private opinion that Callen didn't sleep at all, and existed purely by mainlining caffeine. Heck, the fact that he'd been throttled only a few hours ago hadn't put him off his stride; he'd gotten a full health clearance by the responding paramedics, and had gratefully wolfed down breakfast with the others.

"Hetty's here," came a voice from the ether, as the Operations Manager appeared. She put Callen to shame, looking like she'd had a full eight hours of sleep, though Deeks knew she wouldn't have left Ops for a second until she knew her team was safe. She turned around the room, catching the tired eyes of her agents for a second, before stepping to the large screen. "A good job all round," she said, clasping her hands behind her back. "Reports have just come in that the bomb was substantially more powerful than we had originally been led to believe, though has now been successfully disarmed. You will find that a great portion of this country owes you all a debt of gratitude. Mr Beale?"

"Uh, yeah," said Eric, blinking in surprise at having been called on so quickly. He span his swivel chair to face his computer, tapping away on the keyboard as he continued. "I managed to get a trace on the email communications between Quiggin and Fahran Bashir."

Fluidly, Nell took up the debrief. "We followed the trail back to what we believe to have been the point of origin."

"So we've been able to send the information to the DOD," Eric continued, "who are, as we speak, formulating an operation to capture him."

"An exceptionally well done job," Hetty said again. "Now, why don't you all head home and get some sleep? I dare say you've all more than earned it."

"Night, Hetty," came the assembled chorus, as the team began to shuffle towards the exit.

"You gonna get some surfing in?" asked Kensi as they reached the bottom of the stairs, making their way to the bullpen.

"I might grab a few waves," Deeks replied, his arm still draped around her shoulder. "But I need to swing 'round Sam's and pick up Monty first. Why don't you come with me? That way, you can check out some of Sam's high school football videos for tips on how to play properly next time?"

Kensi pulled up short, dragging herself from his grip. Deeks closed his eyes, letting out a soft sigh.

"What did you say?" she asked, voice pointed.

Deeks turned back to her, smile sheepish. Behind his partner, he could see Callen and Sam had stopped too. The expression on the ex-SEALs' face more than matched Kensi's. "It's, uh, it's possible I'm so tired it's making me delirious?" Deeks tried.

Kensi crossed her arms under her breasts, arching an eyebrow at him. "What exactly do you mean by that?"

"Oh, you know what, you know exactly what I mean. I mean you cheat."

"I do not cheat."

"You do, you cheat, and you don't even try to hide it."

"I happen to be a very competitive person," she retorted.

"Right," he agreed. "Also you cheat."

"Can you guys not start making out in the office?" interjected Callen. "I just ate."

"Wait a minute," said Sam, rounding on his own partner. "How has Deeks seen footage of me playing in high school?"

"Well," said Callen, pausing a moment, and flicking his eyes towards Deeks. "See, the thing is, I don't have a TV, so…"

"Yeah, but those are on tape," continued Sam. "And I know for a fact that Deeks doesn't have a VHS player. Unless…" He trailed off, spinning around to where Eric and Nell were stood on the middle section of the staircase. Eric took a half step back.

"I thought it was for a case," the tech geek protested. "Callen brought it to me, wanted it converted to digital. It wasn't until we were playing it on the big screen in Ops that I realised…" He stepped talking suddenly, as if realising he'd said too much.

Sam's eyes went wide. "You've all seen the footage!?" he exclaimed.

"'fraid so," admitted Kensi.

Sam scoffed. "Fine," he grumbled, before jamming a thick finger at Callen's chest. "Then you can tell this fool that I was a great receiver."

Silence echoed through the building. Deeks scratched at the back of his neck, as Sam turned his attention one by one to the team around him.

Finally, Nell spoke up. "You certainly looked like the uniform suited you," she offered.

"Right, that's it," snapped Sam. "There's a park across the street, we're going there right now and I'm going to prove to you all, once and for all, that I just am that damn good."

"I don't know," said Deeks. "We've been up for hours, I'm tired…"

"Really?" said Kensi, cutting him off. "You're gonna claim I'm a cheat, and then not back it up?"

He met her eyes, saw the sparkle in them, saw the dangerous edge he loved so much. "You know what, you're on," he said, grabbing her by the crook of the arm and dragging her towards the door.

Sam and Callen were just a few seconds behind them. "Same teams as before," called Callen.

From their perch on the stairs, Nell and Eric observed the interaction. A long moment passed. "Promise not to go easy on me?" Nell asked, not looking at her partner.

Eric leant forward, resting his elbows on the railing. "Only if you promise to not go easy on me," he replied. They stood side by side for a moment more, then started for the door.

From atop the staircase, Hetty watched it all, a small smile playing on her lips. Then she raised the tea cup to her lips, savouring the taste.

THE END


End file.
